The Boy Who Went Back
by LadyLacrimalis
Summary: AU. At King's Cross, Harry chooses not to accept the two roads that lay ahead of him: go back or move on. Instead, he finds himself flung back into the past, this time with the opportunity to make his own choices. Whether those choices will be for the better, however, remains to be seen...
1. Chapter 1

"Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort said very softly. "The Boy Who Lived."

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting; everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his –  
Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear –

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

* * *

Harry lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was here. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes. He lay in a bright mist, through it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapour; rather the cloudy vapour had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.

He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore. Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slight indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping  
on something furtive, shameful.  
He stood up, looking around. The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great domed glass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist. . . .  
Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear domed glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for—  
He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noise. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight,  
struggling for breath.  
He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him.

"You cannot help."

He spun around. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.

"Harry," He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both  
whole and white and undamaged. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk."

Stunned, Harry followed as Dumbledore strode away from where the flayed child lay whimpering, leading him to two seats that Harry had not previously noticed, set some distance away under that high, sparkling ceiling. Dumbledore sat down in one of them, and Harry fell into the other, staring at his old headmaster's face. Dumbledore's long silver hair and beard, the piercingly blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, the crooked nose: Everything was as he had remembered it. And yet . . .

"But you're dead." said Harry.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore matter-of-factly.

"Then . . . I'm dead too." Harry felt he should feel a bit more, well, _sad_at the realisation, but he just felt numb. He was dead. Of course he was, that was what he had set out to do. His 'saving people' thing had not left him a choice. At least the others had a chance now. As long as Neville took out the snake like he had told him to, anyone had a shot at the Dark Lord. It didn't have to be him at all, no matter what the prophecy said.

He looked up at Dumbledore, a realisation suddenly hitting him. "You planned this. All of this. From the beginning."

Dumbledore did not seem to have expected that. He opened his mouth, closed it again, frowning at Harry slightly. "I – I have good reason to believe this death will not be permanent for you –"

"Good reason to believe?" Harry said, standing up from his seat. "You sent me out to get myself killed with _a good reason to believe_it wouldn't be permanent?" He felt his face growing hot, a rage he hadn't felt since his fifth year gathering in his chest. "All these years, you've – you've been manipulating me –"

"Harry!" Dumbledore sounded honestly shocked. "I have been _guiding_you, giving you the pieces of the puzzle when you were ready for it. I had to make sure that -"

"Everything went according to plan?" spat Harry. "So your plan included letting all those people out there _die_ because I wasn't ready to solve some bloody _puzzle_? If you didn't trust me, why didn't you tell your precious Order? Did you really think that I, some seventeen-year-old with a fancy scar, would do better in locating and destroying those horcruxes than a group of adult, fully trained wizards and witches that had experience with fighting Voldemort in the first place?"

Harry let out a hollow laugh. Looking back, it was so _obvious _that there had been other ways, better ways that Dumbledore could have used the information he'd gathered. But instead he'd put all his bets on one horse. "_Why_?"

"Harry, you have to understand that the prophesy - your unique connection with the Dark Lord, it made things so much more complicated than you realise. Your destinies were wrapped together more closely than any two wizards were ever joined in history. _It had to be you._"

"You don't know that" Harry said, his heart hammering in his chest. "You didn't even try to get rid of him in any other way."

"Harry, can't you see I just couldn't take that chance?" Dumbledore looked disappointed, like Harry was a beloved, precocious child who just couldn't grasp the adult concept that the older wizard was trying to explain. "Lord Voldemort had to be destroyed at all costs. The wizarding world could not have survived another full-blown war, so many have died already, too many –"

"Maybe if you'd told me everything from the beginning – told anyone – instead of holding everything back until the last bloody minute, they would've stood a chance."

"Harry, I deeply regret the unavoidable losses we have incurred, but can't you see, we did it! The part of Lord Voldemort's soul that was in you –" he inclined his head towards the miserable, suffering child under the bench, "has been destroyed. Your soul is whole and your own! Lord Voldemort took your blood to rebuild his body, your blood, with Lily's protection inside it. As long as he lives, you cannot truly die."

"Just like you planned," Harry said quietly. "Such a clever plan, too. You played me - all of us like a fiddle, didn't you? For the greater good."

Dumbledore recoiled as if Harry had hit him in the face, Grindelwald's words seeming to have shocked him into silence.

"I guess it was just all too beautiful," Harry continued, his voice monotonous. "Just too poetic for Voldemort to be defeated by _the power of love_for you to pass up the opportunity. You like your pretty children's tales of love, loyalty and innocence so much you want to twist the entire world into how you think it should be. And you honestly think it is all for the best."

Harry walked over to where the twisted imitation of a child was whimpering, and with an effort of will gently picked it up, cradling it in his arms. "If you'd told me everything – told every_one_, get the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry and the entire Hogwarts staff involved... do you think they wouldn't have listened to you? To the greatest wizard of our time? But no, instead I had to set off on some – some grand _quest_, doing everything by myself, thinking I was the only one who could get this whole mess sorted out. And Remus and Tonks and Fred and Dobby and –" He choked, unable to continue the list. In his arms, the child shifted fretfully, but it had fallen quiet.

"Harry… You have the chance to go back and defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all," Dumbledore said quietly, carefully.

"And if I don't?" Harry replied, narrowing his eyes.

"You would be able to… move on."

"So those are my choices?" Harry said, carefully pulling up the hem of his robes and wrapping the flayed abomination in his arms in them. It was a bit easier to deal with when it was covered up like that. He'd picked it up simply because Dumbledore had said there was no point to it, but now the child seemed to be breathing more easily, he was glad he'd done so. "Those are the choices you give me? Back to all the pain and fear and loss that your machinations created, or give up and die?"

Dumbledore's face was twisted in an expression of pain that almost made Harry feel wretched about confronting him. Almost. The man had treated him like a puppet ever since his parents had died. Left him with the Dursleys, never making sure they weren't the horrible, abusive excuse for adoptive parents they turned out to be. Always holding back information, only letting slip the things that would steer Harry in the direction he wanted to.  
Who knows to what lengths the man had gone to ensure his plans and plots turned out the way he wanted them? Had he made sure Sirius, his godfather, had gone to Azkaban without a trial so the Dursleys were the only apparent option? Had he fabricated the defences for the Philosopher's Stone so that Harry, Hermione and Ron were ideally suited to make it through them, with Harry the only one left to confront Quirrelmort? (He'd always wondered when he got older and learned more about magical defences why Dumbledore hadn't simply warded the whole corridor and be done with it instead of constructing something more akin to a gameshow). Had he picked Snape to be his Occlumency teacher on purpose, knowing that his enmity with the Potions master would prevent Harry from really grasping the concept?

His head spinning, Harry turned his back on Dumbledore. He could go back and finish off Voldemort. Dumbledore's machinations had brought them this far, he might as well take the opportunity now it presented itself. But part of him rebelled against the very idea, rebelled against accepting the reality that the man had imposed on him. Who knew how many lives had been lost while he lay dead on the forest floor? Visions of Ron and Hermione, laying broken on the floor, flashed in front of his eyes. Ginny hit by a killing curse. Neville being mauled by Voldemort's giant snake. McGonagall hit in the chest by a barrage of spells, this time never to rise.

"No," Harry said, pulling the child, the piece of Voldemort's soul tighter to his chest. "I won't."

"Harry, if you choose to die here everything – the deaths, the sacrifices – all will have been for naught!" Dumbledore said, rising from his seat. There was a note of panic in his voice, and Harry shied away from him when he felt the man trying to put a hand on his shoulder.

"I won't choose to die either," Harry said, his voice hoarse. "I want to – I want to go back and…" He fell quiet, not entirely sure what he wanted, just that it wasn't _this_, not this impossible choice between a fate he never wanted and giving up entirely. Spots started to dance in front of his eyes as he turned back to Dumbledore, every fibre of his being screaming out in denial over the two roads that lay ahead of him, paths that he had no intention to take.

_I want none of this to have happened._

A sensation of turning around, looking at the single path that laid behind him.

The last thing Harry saw before darkness overtook him was Dumbledore's mouth opening in surprise, his hand stretched out towards him, but he was too far away to reach him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again. "Up!" she screeched.  
Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a very strange and disturbing dream, and longer than any he'd ever –

Harry flung himself upright, and was rewarded for his trouble by banging his head on the underside of the stairs. A spider fell on his lap, shook loose from the ceiling by the impact. He hissed in pain and clamped his hands over the spot he'd hit, his eyes roving around, taking in his surroundings.

He was back in his cupboard under the stairs.

He jumped when Aunt Petunia banged on the door again. "Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Uhm, give me a minute," said Harry, his head spinning. He'd gone back. He'd actually gone back and was back with the Dursleys in his cupboard and nobody had died yet and he'd gone _back_!

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Dudley's birthday – he'd gone back to before he'd even known about Hogwarts. A huge grin spread over Harry's face. He'd gone back! Nobody had died yet! He had a chance to fix _everything_! How was this possible?  
Harry's only experience with time travel was their stint with Hermione's TimeTurner in his third year, and back then it had seemed that whatever they did had already happened in the first timeline anyway. It had given him a headache trying to think about it.  
A feeling of panic washed over him. What if it was going to be like that again? What if he was forced to go through all those years again, unable to stop anything from happening precisely the way it had before?  
Harry's mind spun with questions as he started hunting for his clothes.

When he was dressed, grimacing about having to wear Dudley's cast-offs again, Harry extracted himself from the cupboard under the stairs and looked around the hallway. Everything was just as he remembered it, from the pictures of Dudley that lined the walls to the ugly, mustard-yellow carpet on the floor.  
He started when he spotted himself in the mirror. His eleven-year-old self looked even smaller and skinnier than he ever remembered being. Harry studied his thin face, bright green eyes and messy black hair with the scar peeking out from underneath it, then pulled a face at himself and tried to flatten his hair. His Aunt and Uncle had always hated how unruly it looked.

Harry made his way to the kitchen, his mind racing. He'd need to keep his head down until he could figure out what had happened, and what he should do. He went through the well-practiced motions of making and serving breakfast, trying not to roll his eyes at Dudley's temper tantrum when he figured out he'd gotten less presents than last year, and managed to steal some eggs and bacon while the Dursleys were discussing what to do with him during their trip to the zoo after Mrs. Figgs called to inform them of her broken leg.

As Harry sat in the backseat of the car on their way to the zoo, occasionally wincing as Dudley kept poking him in the side, he recalled how elated he had been to finally have a day out, the previous time. The memory made him angry at Dumbledore again. The man had put him with the Dursleys on purpose, never checking up on him or telling them they'd better treat him well, making sure he'd have a horrible childhood. And for what? To teach him some rubbish lesson about – about what exactly? What it is like to be poor and have everyone hate you? What it is like not to have a family that cares for you or to ever feel safe? To condition him never to trust adults so every time something serious went on in Hogwarts, he'd set out on his own rather than warn the teachers?

Harry wandered through the zoo in a gloomy mood, grateful for being ignored by the Dursleys and Dudley's friend Piers. He absent-mindedly thanked Aunt Petunia when she bought him a cheap lemon ice pop, earning himself a glare for being anything less than enraptured by her generosity. By the time they sat down for lunch in the zoo restaurant, he'd made up his mind that this time he would try his hardest not to let Dumbledore decide his course of action. He'd find a way to get rid of Voldemort that would not involve so many people he loved dying. He'd make sure none of them got hurt this time around.

Uncle Vernon looked at him oddly when he waved off the offer of Dudley's rejected knickerbocker glory, but didn't comment.

After lunch they visited the reptile house, and Harry chatted with the boa constrictor for a bit, making sure that neither the Dursleys or Piers Polkiss could see what he was doing. He was relieved to find he was still a Parselmouth. Harry had no idea if everything was exactly the same or some things were different, and if things where the same he'd have a much easier time planning what he had to do.  
_Still up there, Tom?_Harry thought, rubbing his scar with a finger. He'd have to figure out what to do about being a Horcrux as well. Hopefully he could find a method to remove the piece of Voldermort's soul that had latched on to him which didn't involve killing himself.

Harry was allowed a bit of birthday cake when they got back home, even though Dudley had been eyeing his slice, his piggy eyes narrowed. Harry supposed he deserved the cake for not sending Aunt Petunia into shrieking fits and Dudley into a state of near-catatonia by setting a snake on him, and he ate it with relish, making sure to show every bit of enjoyment. He knew it was petty, but it felt good to get back at Dudley after all those years of being bullied by him, even if it was in such a small and insignificant way.

* * *

Harry survived the last month of primary school by making a deal with Dudley to do his homework, if Dudley and his cronies left him alone. It wasn't like the homework took him long to do anyway, and not having to stop himself from punching a bunch of eleven-year-olds was a welcome relief. He wasn't entirely sure that would be a good idea anyway, as even though his mind was that of a seventeen-year-old, his body was still that of the skinny, scrawny kid he'd been before reaching puberty. School was a lot more quiet and enjoyable without constantly being hounded by Dudley's gang.  
Of course, he couldn't exactly buy off Aunt Petunia with anything, and his free time was still dominated by what she called 'doing chores', but actually was practically running the household for her. Harry had almost forgotten how horribly the Dursleys treated him before they found out he was a wizard (and could scare them off with a simple mention of his ex-convict godfather). He'd been careful not to do too well in school, but still had to endure a shouting match when his grades came back, and they were higher than Dudley's, despite the latter's improvements due to the homework arrangement. Harry resigned himself to being worked like a house elf, verbally abused (even if Dudley had stopped the physical bullying after being promised further help with his homework when he went to Smeltings), and generally being treated as simultaneously a waste of space and a terrible burden.  
What he found a whole lot harder to deal with was the hunger. The Dursleys had always seemed to think that every bite that went into Harry's mouth was one stolen from their Dudders. Being hungry and miserable while on the run from wizarding Britain in a tent was one thing when you were a generally well-fed and adequately padded seventeen-year-old. Being hungry and miserable while living with your abusive adoptive parents as an underfed and malnourished eleven-year-old brought on dizzy spells, headaches, and sometimes made Harry's hands shake so bad he almost dropped whatever he was holding. He'd been shocked to realise just how bad his physical condition was compared to the older and decidedly stronger body he'd left behind. He didn't just look weedy, he could be knocked over by a strong gust of wind, and while he was still fast and nimble, his stamina was frankly deplorable.

The summer holidays rolled around, and Harry spent July thinking and planning. Weeding or doing the dishes kept his hands busy, but his mind free to mull over things. He'd discarded the idea that he couldn't alter the timeline after he'd obviously done so on Dudley's birthday, and tried to imagine the effects of any other changes that he'd want to make. He doubted that eating a slice of birthday cake would have any major ramifications, but for instance accidentally-on-purpose getting Ron's rat Scabbers – or Peter Pettigrew, as he now knew – killed as soon as he got his hands on him could have unforeseen consequences. He'd have to be very careful not to alter the timeline in a way that would cause more trouble – and deaths – than he would be trying to prevent.  
Harry had considered writing down everything he could remember about what had happened in the seven years between his first days at Hogwarts and being 'killed' by Voldemort, but decided against it as he couldn't risk his notes falling into the hands of the Dursleys, who would surely ship him off to a mental ward if they read them. Instead, he tried to remember everything as clearly as he could, and wondered vaguely where he could read up about creating a Pensieve. One of those would come in really handy now.  
In the end, Harry decided that planning out every detail of what he would do would be entirely impossible, as well as useless. While he knew the shape of things to come, he couldn't predict every possible outcome of every action he took that was different from the original timeline. He'd have to try to steer events as they came, and do his best to make sure he was equipped to deal with anything that came up. He identified the four main things he'd need to do: use every opportunity to increase his magical knowledge, get Sirius cleared and elected as his guardian as soon as possible (the thought of his godfather being in Azkaban again made him nauseated), find as many allies that were not direct toadies of Dumbledore as possible (including, Harry thought wryly, media contacts), prevent the restoration of Voldemort's body by all means, and make sure _nobody_he knew got killed this time around.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry awaited the 24th of July – the day on which he'd gotten his first Hogwarts letter – with anticipation. He stopped himself from camping out in front of the mailbox, as this was sure to earn him a kick and some very suspicious questions from the Dursleys. He sat in the kitchen, watching Aunt Petunia dye his new uniform, which he thankfully would never have to wear, and waited for the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat. He'd debated with himself whether he would try to get the letter before the Dursleys noticed it, or have the satisfaction of leaving them stranded on a rock out in the sea one more time, but decided that he'd rather not invoke their ire like he had last time. Better to present them with the fact that he'd be going to Hogwarts as a done deal, than giving them the idea that they could still do something to prevent it.

Harry got up without a word of protest when Uncle Vernon told him to go and get the mail. As soon as he spotted the familiar envelope with his name and address written on it in emerald-green ink, he let out a breath he hadn't been conscious he was holding. He was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Again.  
Being careful to safely tuck away the letter in his cupboard first, Harry brought the rest of the mail into the kitchen and handed it to Uncle Vernon. It took him a few moments to notice that Aunt Petunia was eyeing him suspiciously.

"…What?" said Harry, giving her a bemused look.

"Was that all the mail?" Aunt Petunia snapped. Uncle Vernon and Dudley looked up at them, Aunt Marge's postcard suddenly forgotten.

"Err, yes," Harry lied, wondering why on earth she'd ask such a thing. He tried to keep his face neutral while Aunt Petunia studied it, but obviously failed, as she walked over to him and started patting him down.

"What are you doing?" said Harry, wincing as Aunt Petunia's bony fingers jabbed him harder than strictly necessary. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were staring at her as if she'd gone mental, but she ignored them.

"There is no way you wouldn't – not with Lily…" Aunt Petunia muttered as she searched him. When Harry failed to have anything hidden on his person, she marched out of the kitchen into the hallway, gnashing her teeth. Harry followed her, anxiety gripping his insides. She'd been there when his mother got accepted into Hogwarts, she must remember about the Hogwarts letter arriving a week before a student's birthday, and didn't believe Harry had not received his. Why else would she expect him to be hiding something?  
Aunt Petunia was methodically searching through the hallway, lifting up the doormat to peer underneath it, looking behind curtains and under the hallway table, becoming increasingly more agitated. Harry stood in the doorway, trying very hard not to look at his cupboard and hoping that she wouldn't think of looking inside it.  
He gave a gasp as Dudley whacked the small of his back with his Smeltings stick, and moved aside to let his cousin and uncle gape at Aunt Petunia's search mission.

"Petunia, dear… what are you doing?" said Uncle Vernon, frowning.

"Take Dudley into the living room Vernon, would you?" Aunt Petunia replied, rolling up the hallway carpet and patting the floor underneath it, as if she expected something invisible to be there. When this unlikely hiding place failed to contain anything at all as well, she turned on Harry, who still stood a few steps away from the hallway. Uncle Vernon and Dudley hadn't moved either, the former slowly turning an alarming shade of puce, the latter looking from Harry to his mother and back curiously.

"Where is it?" Aunt Petunia snapped. "And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

Harry didn't know whether it would be worse to keep up the charade until Aunt Petunia thought of searching his cupboard, or to just come out and tell her. He was tempted to keep acting like he had no idea what she was on about just to see her become more and more frantic, but reminded himself that for the moment his aunt and uncle were still his legal guardians, and he depended on them for things like food and shelter.  
Resigned, he slouched over to his cupboard, opened the door and pulled the letter from its hiding place. He reluctantly gave it to Aunt Petunia, who snatched it out of his hands and turned it over, examining the seal on the back.

"You haven't opened it?"

"I was going to read it later. It is _my_letter, you know. Addressed to me and everything. It's even got my cupboard on it," said Harry, pointing.

Aunt Petunia had moved over to where Uncle Vernon and Dudley were standing. Uncle Vernon looked like he'd seen a ghost, just like last time, and Dudley was jumping up and down, trying to read what was on the envelope still clutched in his mother's hand.

"What is it mum? Who would be writing Harry? Can I read it? I want to read it!"

"Stay here," croaked Uncle Vernon, pushing his wife back inside the kitchen and closing the door behind them.

Harry and Dudley looked at eachother, then at the door. Dudley made a beeline for the keyhole, and Harry, resigned that he wouldn't be able to win from his much larger cousin this time either, lowered himself on his stomach and listened through the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address – how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching – spying – might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we won't allow him to –"

"No," grunted Uncle Vernon. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything..."

"But –"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense? And how did you know the boy got the letter anyway?"

* * *

The rest of the week leading up to Harry's birthday went more or less the same as it had the previous time. The Dursleys moved him to Dudley's second bedroom, Dudley went back and forth between wailing about needing his room and wanting to read Harry's letter, and more and more letters tried to find their way to him, culminating in a barrage of letters pouring through the kitchen chimney. Harry made a couple of attempts to try and read the letters for the look of it, and tried to hide his amusement at Uncle Vernon's distress.

They ended up in the same hotel in Cokeworth, which they fled when the letters found them again, and on Monday Harry found himself freezing in the little boat Uncle Vernon had hired, on their way to the shack on the rock where Harry had first met Hagrid. He was looking forward to that at least, if not to the horrible storm that had raged around the hut last time.

* * *

Harry was trying to wrap himself in the thinnest blanket as tightly as he could when he noticed Dudley staring at him from on the moth-eaten sofa that would be his bed for the night.

"What?" he said, not entirely unkindly. He knew the flight from Privet Drive must have been hard on his cousin, who had never experienced an abnormal day in his entire life. He also hadn't forgotten Dudley asking his parents why Harry wasn't coming with them, the last time he'd seen him back in the future, and expressing concern about where he was going to go on his own. Not to mention shaking his hand and telling him he didn't consider him to be a total waste of space.

"What's going on?" said Dudley, pulling the covers tighter over his shoulders. He seemed to be shivering. Harry guessed that even Dudley's layers of lard weren't enough to shield him from the biting cold in the hut.

"I don't really know", lied Harry. "Apparently your parents just really don't want me to read my mail."

"I want to go home," said Dudley rather abruptly. Harry stared at him. The larger boy looked like he was about to burst into tears, but furiously trying to hide it. "I wish that dad would just let you read your stupid letter and everything went back to normal."

"I'm sorry, Dudley," said Harry, and to his surprise found he meant it. "I wish you could go home too. This place sucks."

"It does," said Dudley from underneath his pile of blankets.

"Try to get some sleep, maybe Uncle Vernon will realise this isn't a good place to stay in the morning, and he'll take you back home," said Harry, shivering and contemplating that this was the longest civil conversation he'd had with his cousin in, well, ever.

There were a few long moments of silence in the hut. Then –

"There's space for you on the sofa, if you want," came Dudley's voice from underneath his blankets. Harry stared at him, and Dudley shifted uncomfortably. "It's really cold – the blankets are large enough for both of us."

"I – I don't know what to say, Dudley," said Harry, shocked.

"Well make up your mind before I change mine," grunted Dudley, and Harry hurriedly got up, took off his shoes and clambered on the sofa, slipping under the pile of blankets with his head next to Dudley's feet. Dudley was right, there was just enough space on the sofa for both of them like this, and even if it wasn't very comfortable it was undeniably a lot warmer than the floor. Harry spread his thin blanket and added it to the pile, while Dudley grumbled about his cold feet and kicked him in the side, but not very hard.

"Thanks Dudley," said Harry sincerely once he'd settled down.

" 'nt mention it," mumbled Dudley, and Harry wondered what he'd done differently this time to make his cousin give a damn about his comfort. He'd helped him with his homework, true, but that had only been in return for telling his friends to leave off Harry. Was it because of their conversation, and Harry telling Dudley he was sorry and that he hoped he could go home soon?

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on, and Harry was very grateful for the extra blankets and Dudley's added warmth, even if the other boy's snores were almost as loud as the low rolls of thunder outside, and he occasionally kicked Harry in his sleep. Harry craned his head to the side to look at the lighted dial of Dudley's watch, counting down the minutes to his birthday and Hagrid's entrance. At least he hoped Hagrid would come to get him from this forsaken rock like he had last time.

One minute to go and he'd find out. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine – maybe he'd wake Dudley up so his cousin wouldn't kick him when he jerked awake - three... two...one...

There was a polite knock on the door of the shack, and Harry sat bolt upright, realising that if Hagrid was outside, he'd never be this delicate.


	4. Chapter 4

Whoever was outside gave that same polite knock again. Wondering why someone else than Hagrid had been sent to pick him up, Harry quickly disentangled himself from the blankets and pulled on his shoes. He hurried over to the door and opened it carefully, peering outside, straight into the decidedly cat-like eyes of…

Harry bit his tongue to prevent himself from exclaiming "Professor McGonagall!" It wouldn't do to break his cover as a timetraveller before he could figure out just how loyal she was to Dumbledore.

"Uhm… Can I help you?" Harry said instead, intensely aware of the absurdity of the situation. He noticed that while both waves and rain were still lashing the sides of the cabin, Professor McGonagall's clothes were completely dry.

Professor McGonagall looked around the shack with a disapproving look on her face. Finally her piercing gaze settled back on Harry.

"Harry James Potter, I presume?" she said. Harry nodded wordlessly, still puzzling over why Dumbledore had sent his deputy Headmistress instead of Hagrid in this timeline.

"My name is Professor McGonagall."

There was a short pause, in which Harry remembered that she was standing outside in a raging gale, and pulled the door open completely.

"Please come in, uh, professor." Harry stepped aside for his former and future Transfiguration professor, and she nodded at him curtly as she swept inside. He'd forgotten how tall she'd looked to his eleven-year-old self. It didn't take a lot of acting to keep staring at her, as his mind was still well and truly boggled over the change in events.

"Please do close that door, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, raising a single eyebrow.

Harry hurried to comply with her request, then stood uncertainly in front of the now-closed door.

"How do you know my name?" he said, shivering. He'd quite like to get back under the pile of blankets with Dudley, who was still snoring, but professor McGonagall stood between him and the sofa, and he didn't think a frightened eleven-year-old would dare to pass her.

Professor McGonagall whipped out her wand, and for an insane moment Harry was worried she was going to hex him for some reason, but she merely pointed it at the fireplace and said: "Incendio".

A roaring fire sprang to life in the fireplace, and Harry was so grateful for its sudden warmth washing over him that he almost forgot to look astonished.

"How did you – what just –" he stammered, hoping he looked suitably impressed for what should be his first contact with magic.

"The reason I know your name, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "is because Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sent me here to make sure you received your letter."

"Professor Who of the School of What?" said Harry, noticing that Dudley had opened his eyes and was trying to blink the sleep out of them.

"I will take that as a no," said Professor McGonagall, looking around the hut again. She sighed, then waved her wand and conjured up a twin set of plush armchairs, a low but elegant coffee table, a set of china and what looked to Harry, whose stomach started growling, like two cream teas.

"Please sit down, Mr. Potter. It appears I have rather a few things to tell you."

* * *

They were halfway through their cream tea and McGonagall had just finished telling Harry about what had really happened to his parents – in quite a bit more detail than Hagrid had the previous time – when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia appeared in the room. Harry was in the process of slathering his third scone with clotted cream, eyed by a perplexed Dudley, who so far had been too intimidated to show any signs that he was awake, and looked up at his legal guardians, amused by their horrified expressions.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, fighting to keep his face straight. "This is Professor McGonagall, she came by to see if I'd gotten my letter. She's been telling me all sorts of interesting stuff about my parents and this wizarding school I've been accepted to. Professor McGonagall, these are my Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon."

Professor McGonagall sniffed, and gave the Dursleys a glare that clearly said _we will have a chat about this later_. Uncle Vernon made a funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on. Harry didn't blame him, as he had first-hand experience of being fixed with that exact same look. Aunt Petunia was looking at Dudley, who was very obviously awake now, opening and shutting her mouth wordlessly.

"You... you've been discussing this in front of my Dudders?" she said faintly.

Professor McGonagall looked at Dudley, who cringed slightly at the force of her stare.

"Oh, excuse me young man. I hadn't realised you were there," said McGonagall. She waved her wand again, and a third cream tea appeared on the table. "Scone?"

Dudley fidgeted a little, torn between his hunger and his uncertainty of the situation. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything she gives you, Dudley."

"Really, Mr. Dursley, I do not routinely go around poisoning children." Professor McGonagall sniffed again. "Although I do agree that the boy could do with losing a little weight." She peered at Dudley a bit closer, and frowned when she noticed his bulk wasn't just due to the pile of blankets. "Or a lot of it."

"Madam," said Uncle Vernon, trembling like a leaf, "I forbid you to say another word in the presence of my son."

"Forbid? I –" McGonagall started, but Uncle Vernon cut her off.

"We swore when we took the kid in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," he said, "swore we'd stamp it out of him!"

"You knew?" said Harry hurriedly, knowing he should act surprised and not like he'd been carrying a grudge for seven years now about this very fact. "You knew I'm a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that - that school - and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was – a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went on ranting. Harry knew she had been wanting to say all this for years, but it still stung that his aunt had never been able to forgive his mother for having been born a witch, while she herself had remained a muggle, no matter how many letters she had sent to Dumbledore. He knew it must have been hard for her to always play second fiddle, but to loathe her own sister like that…

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

A light went on in Harry's head, a light that had been waiting in the back of his mind for years for the right question to flick it on.

"But why?"

Every pair of eyes in the room focused on him as he sat in his conjured armchair, clotted cream slowly sliding off his forgotten scone.

"Why did you get landed with me – why did you agree to take me in? If you hated my mum that much, and you hate magic so much, why would you…"

Aunt Petunia had frozen, but her eyes darted to her only son, who had taken advantage of all the confusion to grab a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam, and was now busy stuffing his face.

"You… You didn't," said Harry, as comprehension dawned. "Please tell me you didn't trade taking care of me for making sure Dudley was a muggle just like you."

"I had to!" choked Aunt Petunia. "I couldn't take the chance that my little Duddykins would be… would be…"

"Like me?" Harry said, his insides turning to ice. All this time, and he'd never wondered what Dumbledore must have offered his aunt in exchange for taking him in. He looked at Dudley, who was staring at his mother with a look of utter incomprehension on his face. He didn't understand what she was saying, didn't know that his mother had made a pact with Dumbledore in exchange for her hospitality, that she had made sure Dudley would never have any magic or become a wizard. He felt very sick all of a sudden. Dumbledore would have never agreed to stamp out the magic of The-Boy-Who-Lived, but his cousin…

Professor McGonagall had followed the exchange with a shocked expression on her face, and was now regarding Dudley, looking about as sick as Harry felt.

"He wouldn't…" she whispered, but Harry could see her come to the conclusion that Dumbledore, indeed, would. He would when it came to his plans for Harry Potter. In his own way, the man was quite as ruthless as Voldemort himself.

"Well, at any rate, he isn't going," said Uncle Vernon, breaking the shocked silence that had settled over the hut. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish – spell books and wands – I'm not going to pay for you lot teaching him magic tricks!"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Dursley," snapped Professor McGonagall. "Rest assured that Harry's parents, at least, had his best interests at heart."

Aunt Petunia winced at that, and Dudley looked at each of the adults in return, aware that they were somehow talking about him, but not sure why.

"They set up a trust fund that will be quite adequate to pay for his tuition. A fund that cannot be accessed by anyone but Harry." She did not add _in case any of you get any ideas _to that sentence, but Harry could see that the Dursleys had understood it just the same.

"Well, come along Mr. Potter. It is getting late, and we'd best find some… appropriate accommodation for the night," said Professor McGonagall, finishing her tea and rising from her armchair. "We have a busy day tomorrow, as I will be taking you to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies. If there are no more objections…?" She looked at the Dursleys, who swallowed, but remained wisely quiet.

Professor McGonagall nodded, and walked to the door, Harry trotting after her happily. While setting Professor McGonagall on the Dursleys instead of Hagrid had been a great deal less terrifying for them, it had contained an element of chastising that made it a lot more satisfying for him.  
Before opening the door, Professor McGonagall looked back at the Dursleys, and almost as an afterthought, flicked her wand. Dudley's sofa was transfigured into a comfortable-looking single bed, the pile of blankets changing into a thick duvet with several comforters on top. Dudley squealed, but it was a squeal of delight, not terror. Harry grinned at him, and Dudley gave him a look of wonder.

As they left the shack, Harry could just barely make out Dudley saying: "What did Harry mean, you made sure I was a muggle just like you?"


	5. Chapter 5

Professor McGonagall had Apparated them both to the Leaky Cauldron, and after a brief conversation with Tom the landlord about making sure everyone left Harry alone while he was in London, booked them two rooms. Harry was grateful for not being accosted by the Leaky Cauldron's customers like he had been last time, and grateful that he got to sleep somewhere warm, dry and comfortable for the night. He hoped Dudley's night in the shack would not be too hard on him. He'd shown Harry some really uncharacteristic kindness by offering to share the sofa. Maybe there was hope for his cousin yet.

He had breakfast together with Professor McGonagall the next morning, and made sure to pelt her with as many questions he thought a wide-eyed muggleborn would have when first being introduced to the wizarding world. She looked a bit exasperated at his questioning, but answered all of them in detail, and Harry was sure he'd seen one of the corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile a couple of times. He fell quiet as he was sopping up the remains of his egg with his last piece of toast, thinking back about yesterday's unexpected revelation.

"Professor McGonagall," said Harry, "I don't think it's right that my aunt has stopped my cousin from being magical."

Professor McGonagall looked at him steadily, but he got the impression she was feeling very uncomfortable.

"I think whatever she had done to Dudley should be reversed," continued Harry. "I mean – I'm so happy that I get to be a wizard, it's not fair that he can't."

"Why are you so sure that this is what happened, Mr. Potter?" inquired Professor McGonagall, dabbing her lips with her napkin and setting it aside. "Your cousin could simply be a muggle, without a shred of magical talent."

"But doesn't he deserve the chance to find out?" said Harry, fidgeting with the copy of the Daily Prophet that had been included in their breakfast tray. "What if he _is _a wizard? Should he just keep living like a normal boy while I get the chance to go to Hogwarts and learn magic?"

Professor McGonagall didn't say anything, but Harry could tell she was very disturbed by the thought of any young witch or wizard being denied their education.

Harry decided to give her a bit of a push in the right direction. "I'm sure the paper would be really interested to hear about a boy not being allowed to go to Hogwarts just because his mum doesn't want him to and someone took away his magic," he said, regarding the Daily Prophet with interest and leafing through its pages. He had to stop himself from wincing when he felt the full force of Professor McGonagall's stare on him.

"Are you trying to –" she started, then hesitated. She'd obviously realised that Harry had no way of knowing it had been Dumbledore who had made the deal with Aunt Petunia. Besides, an eleven-year-old trying to blackmail _anyone_seemed a bit of a stretch.

Harry tried to give Professor McGonagall his most innocent look. He wasn't entirely sure it was working. "I just want someone to help him. If they took away his magic, they can give it back again, right?"

"Well, you can't exactly take away someone's magic, Mr. Potter, you can only lock it away, stop them from accessing it," said Professor McGonagall, now looking decidedly flustered.

"Then could Dudley's magic be unlocked again? Could you do it?" Harry sat up eagerly, like he was projecting all his hopes and dreams on the Transfiguration professor. She hesitated, then nodded.

"I believe I could, Mr. Potter. I will have to discuss it with… someone, but I will try to argue the case as _eloquently_as you just have." She gave him a wry smile, and Harry was sure that when she discussed the matter with Dumbledore, she'd tell him about Harry's not-quite threat to go to the papers. "Just keep in mind that your cousin might just be an ordinary muggle after all," said Professor McGonagall, and Harry shrugged, smiling at her.

"At least we'll have the chance to find out."

* * *

Harry made sure to act as if he hadn't been in Diagon Alley at least a dozen times before as he walked down the Alley at Professor McGonagall's side.

"What's that building?" Harry asked, pointing at the gleaming white façade of what he knew very well to be Gringotts.

"That's Gringotts, the Goblin-run Wizarding Bank," answered Professor McGonagall. "We'll be going there first so you can access your vault."

"Goblins are real?" said Harry, looking at the burnished bronze doors and remembering the last time he'd visited the bank.

"As real as you and I," replied Professor McGonagall, steering him towards the bank and leading him inside. "They're a very old race, slow to befriend and quick to offend. Treat them with the utmost respect, as they're fiercely intelligent, can be vicious when provoked." Harry grinned as he read the inscription on the silver inner doors and thought back to when Hermione, Ron and he had broken into the bank and flown out again on the back of a dragon.

_Thief, you have been warned, beware of finding more than treasure here. Hah! They'd found something more than treasure, alright._

Professor McGonagall moved over to one of the available tellers, and greeted him formally. They engaged in some polite chitchat while Harry pretended to look around in wonder, until the goblin asked for Harry's key. He quickly moved over to the counter, and watched Professor McGonagall produce his little golden key as well as a thick parchment envelope. The goblin nodded at the key and accepted the envelope, and Harry realised it must contain Dumbledore's request to have the Philosopher's Stone moved from its vault to Hogwarts.

_Relocating a magical artefact that even non-dark wizards would kill for to possess to a school filled with children. Surely some of the Hogwarts staff must have protested at that?_

Professor McGonagall handed the key over to Harry when the goblin had finished inspecting it, and made him swear that he would take every care not to lose it.

When they arrived at his vault, Harry piled quite a bit more galleons in his bag than last time, while Professor McGonagall explained the wizarding world's monetary system and the current exchange rate for the British Pound.

"This vault gives access to your trust fund, Mr. Potter, and it will automatically replenish itself each new school year. You will be able to access the main vault once you come of age at seventeen." Professor McGonagall eyed his bulging moneybag, and added: "I do not recommend spending all of it at the start of the school year, however."

Harry grinned apologetically, but Professor McGonagall didn't tell him to put anything back, so they got back into the cart and travelled to the surface. Maybe she pitied him because he'd never had anything of his own ever since he'd been landed with the Dursleys, Harry reflected, while the cart made a particularly sharp turn and Professor McGonagall clutched at her hat. He felt a surge of fondness for his Head of House. He also made a mental note to find out exactly what his parents had left him. He hadn't been aware that his vault was only a trust fund, and that he'd come into his full inheritance when he was seventeen.

* * *

"Alright, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall when they exited Gringotts, "why don't you get fitted for your school robes, while I pick up your cauldron and potions ingredients?"

Harry nodded and handed her the hefty bag that contained all his money. Professor McGonagall looked a bit taken aback, but accepted the bag and inclined her head towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"If I have not returned when you are done, wait for me in the shop, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, and set out towards the Apothecary.

Harry entered Madam Malkin's, and was greeted by the squat, smiling proprietor of the shop.

"Hogwarts, dear?" said Madam Malkin, before Harry had the chance to say anything. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Harry stared. He'd forgotten this was the first time he'd ever met Draco Malfoy. Harry felt rather conflicted about the blond-haired boy. On the one hand, he'd been an utter pillock ever since Harry had ever met him, been his arch enemy for his entire time at Hogwarts, and had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, the one place Harry had always thought of as safe.  
On the other hand, Voldemort had forced Malfoy to cooperate, threatening to kill him and harm his parents. It had been obvious that once Malfoy was confronted with the reality of being a follower of Voldemort, he'd wanted nothing more than to get out of the whole mess, and he'd switched sides during the Battle for Hogwarts, even attempting to keep Harry alive when Crabbe wanted to murder him.  
He also looked so _young. _It was hard to think of any eleven-year-old kid as evil, especially if you had seen that kid sobbing his heart out in a bathroom when he got a bit older.

Madam Malkin had to nudge Harry a couple of times before he turned his attention back on her. She made him stand on a stool next to Malfoy, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said Malfoy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry, while privately wondering at how civil Malfoy sounded. Back in the future, it had been all sneering and snide remarks.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said Malfoy. That sounded more like the Slytherin Harry remembered, and he relaxed slightly. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"

"No," said Harry, thinking wistfully about soaring through the skies on his Firebolt. It was odd to think that the broom wasn't even in production yet.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Yeah, Seeker," said Harry, still lost in his flying fantasy, before realising what he'd just said. He had the urge to clap his hands in front of his mouth, but Madam Malkin had him standing with his arms out, pinning the sleeves back. _ I was raised by muggles – I shouldn't even know what Quidditch is yet! _Harry silently cursed himself as Malfoy looked up at him, pleasantly surprised.

"So do I!" said Malfoy happily. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house. You know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No one knows until they get there," replied Harry, still angry at himself for his slip-up. He wondered if the Sorting Hat could be talked into putting him in Gryffindor this time as well. Or what if it could tell that Harry had somehow travelled back in time into his eleven-year-old body? Would it tell Dumbledore? Would it refuse to Sort him at all? Harry bit his lip.

"Well, of course not, but I bet I'll be in Slytherin. All my family have been since ever," said Malfoy, oblivious of Harry's inner turmoil. "Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Harry shrugged, which earned him a disapproving _tssk _from Madam Malkin and a sharp jab with one of the pins.

"Anyway, I believe I haven't introduced myself yet. Draco Malfoy," said Malfoy, looking rather self-important and puffed up, as if his name was something in itself to be proud of. Of course, for him it probably was.

Harry glanced out of the window, looking for Professor McGonagall. He didn't remember his first conversation with Draco Malfoy ever including his name, and wasn't sure if he wanted Malfoy to know who he was just yet. The other boy was looking at him expectantly, and Harry hesitated. Maybe if they hadn't started out on the wrong foot, maybe if Malfoy had had someone to talk all the Pureblood nonsense out of his head, someone to tell him that becoming a Junior Death Eater really wasn't a great idea…

"Harry Potter," said Harry, bracing himself for being stabbed by another pin as Madam Malkin gasped.

Malfoy's eyes bulged, and Harry knew he'd caught him in one of those rare moments when the 'Draco, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy' façade had fallen away.

"_The _Harry Potter?"

Harry lifted his hair to show Malfoy his scar, fearing another jab as he moved without permission, but Madam Malkin was simply staring at him, slightly slack-jawed.

"That's – I mean – _wow_."

Harry, by now extremely uncomfortable at the way Malfoy was gazing at him in astonishment, gave another shrug and a lopsided grin.

"I didn't even know I was until yesterday," said Harry, unsure how to hold a normal conversation with Draco Malfoy, his mouth running on autopilot now. "I mean, I knew I was me, but I didn't know the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing or anything."

"You didn't? How come?" said Malfoy. With a visible effort of will, he tore his eyes away from Harry's scar and looked him in the eyes, disbelief plain on his face.

"I grew up with my aunt and uncle. They're muggles, and they never told me any of it. They said my mum and dad died in a – in a car crash."

"_A car crash_? That's horrible!" said Malfoy, frowning. "I can't imagine growing up without knowing who my family was or what happened to them. Trust a pair of muggles not to let you know." Malfoy shot him a sympathetic glance, and Harry was once again struck by how weird this whole situation was. The boy who had taken any opportunity to try and bring Harry down in the other timeline hadn't even insulted him _once._He was quite relieved when Professor McGonagall showed up, cutting the conversation short, and Madam Malkin hastily turned back to finishing up his fitting.

"See you at Hogwarts then, Potter!" Malfoy called after him as they left the shop, and Professor McGonagall handed the moneybag back to Harry.

"See you, Malfoy!" Harry called back, giving Malfoy a little wave, feeling oddly traitorous.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I'll be moving towards a weekly update schedule from now on, posting new chapters over the weekend. Thanks very much to everyone who has followed or favourite'd this story, and a very special extra-warm thank you for those readers that took the time to post a review. It's very much appreciated, I love finding out what you think about the story!**

* * *

"I see you've made the acquaintance of Mr. Malfoy already," said Professor McGonagall, as they made their way through the Alley.

"You know him?" Harry asked curiously, then pointed at the cauldron Professor McGonagall had slung over her arm. It was filled with carefully wrapped packets of ingredients from the Apothecary. "Do you want me to carry that, professor?"

Professor McGonagall glanced at Harry's thin frame, and shook her head. "Thank you Mr. Potter, but I will be fine. And while I haven't met Mr. Malfoy in person before, I do know his father and mother."

Harry noticed that Professor McGonagall's lips had gone rather thin when she mentioned Lucius and Narcissa. "You don't like them?" he asked, as they stepped inside one of the luggage shops. He'd gotten his trunk from another shop in the other timeline, and didn't recognise this place. It seemed to be more up-scale, and aside from standard school trunks, the shop had several chests on display that looked like they had some interesting features.

"Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy head one of the most powerful families in wizarding society," said Professor McGonagall quietly. Harry could tell she was choosing her words carefully, and wondered if she was weighing up whether to tell him that they'd been Death Eaters. "They are wealthy and very influential, and put a lot of importance on heritage and traditions. They also belong to a faction of wizards that thinks the purity of a witch or wizard's blood should determine their status."

"The purity of their blood?" asked Harry, fascinated by hearing about the Malfoys from someone whose perspective he'd never heard before.

"They believe that someone's bloodline, whether their parents and grandparents and so on have been witches and wizards or not, is more important than intelligence, achievements, kindness – or any other trait. They also believe that only pure-blooded witches and wizards should be allowed to use magic. This is a load of hogwash, Mr. Potter, and you'd do well not to listen to it if it ever comes up in conversation with your new friend."

Professor McGonagall eyed him imperiously, but seemed mollified when she noticed he was nodding along with her words.

"Your own mother was muggleborn – neither of your grandparents on that side had any talent for magic. And she was every bit as capable or deserving of a wand as your father, who came from a long wizarding line."

"You knew my mum and dad, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I taught them both. James was especially gifted when it came to Transfiguration."

Harry grinned as he thought of his father and the other marauders learning to become animagi. _Gifted indeed._

Harry opted to buy one of the special issue trunks instead of the standard school trunk. It resembled the one the fake Professor Moody had had in his fourth year, but with three compartments rather than seven, and without the basement the other had had. The compartments had been magically enlarged to be bigger than the outside, which still made Harry's head hurt a little. It had also been charmed to be as light as a feather despite the weight of its contents, and had several password-activated wards to protect it from theft. Professor McGonagall had protested that a first-year student really only needed a regular school trunk, but Harry had pointed out how useful the different compartments would be for sorting his clothes from his school things and other bits and bobs, and that the trunk would come in very handy for travelling. He gushed over his desire to go and see other countries and places after he left school, and in the end Professor McGonagall acquiesced.  
Harry also bought himself an extra-enlarged mokeskin pouch which had been charmed to retrieve whatever he told it to (inspired by Hermione's little beaded bag that had come to their rescue so often when they were on the run), and spent some time amusing himself by tucking away and retrieving his – now considerably lighter – moneybag, until Professor McGonagall remarked that they'd still have to get his other things.

Harry bought his schoolbooks from Flourish and Blott's, as well as several advanced textbooks that gave a more in-depth look at the principles of his core subjects. Professor McGonagall had raised her eyebrows at that, but refrained from commenting aside from forbidding him to buy a book on hexes and curses. Harry made a mental note to have it delivered once he got to Hogwarts. His education in Defence Against the Dark Arts had been spotty at best, without any solid line in the curriculum throughout his school career, and with the quality of his teachers ranging from high to abysmal. Harry resolved to do everything he could in order to be better prepared this time.  
He also made note of several other books that looked useful, but would surely raise questions if he tried to buy them in the presence of a teacher. He did buy a few books on recent magical events, as well as Hogwarts: A History, claiming he wanted to learn as much as he could about the magical world, which earned him an approving look from Professor McGonagall. Privately, Harry considered that if he'd slip up and mentioned details about something he hadn't actually been told yet, he could always say he'd read about it.

They moved on from Flourish and Blott's, and Harry made sure to visit Eeylops Owl Emporium before they went anywhere else. His heart leapt when he spotted Hedwig perching in one of the cages. Her death had hit him hard, as she'd been the first pet he'd ever owned, and his only link to the magical world during his summer holidays with the Dursleys. He hurried to buy her, afraid that somehow someone would get to her before he could, but he exited the shop carrying the large cage with Hedwig sleeping inside, just like he had the previous time, a happy grin plastered on his face.

He went through the same spiel as last time in Ollivander's, waving wand after wand rather impatiently and wishing the old, wizened wizard would hurry up already and fetch his holly and phoenix feather wand. He felt naked and vulnerable without his wand, and when Ollivander finally brought forth his 'unusual combination', he gripped it with relief and sent forth a stream of red and gold sparks.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall approvingly, and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "  
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious.."

"What is so curious, Garrick?" said Professor McGonagall. Harry already knew what was so curious about his wand, and would rather not be reminded of it, but it seemed very rude to simply leave the shop while his Professor and the shopkeeper were still talking.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Minerva. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in Mr. Potter's wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that he should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave him that scar."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows had risen so high they'd disappeared underneath the rim of her hat.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

"I don't think that's entirely appropriate to tell a child," said Professor McGonagall stiffly, and Mr. Ollivander shrugged and grinned rather unpleasantly. Harry wondered if the wandmaker had decided to part with this information on his own, or whether it was another of Dumbledore's subtle pulls on Harry's strings.

With the day's shopping concluded, Harry and Professor McGonagall rode the Knights Bus back to Privet Drive. On the way back, Professor McGonagall handed Harry his ticket for the Hogwarts Express and explained how to get to platform nine and three-quarters. She also informed him of the way the Knights Bus operated, how to call for it, and that Harry should take it to King's Cross on the first of September if his aunt and uncle couldn't take him.  
Harry couldn't help but reflect on how Hagrid's instructions paled in comparison. Last time, he'd been completely clueless about any of this, and hadn't even found out the Knights Bus existed until his third year.  
When they arrived back in Surrey, he thanked Professor McGonagall profusely for all her help, easily lifted his charmed trunk, and got off the Knights Bus. It was only after he'd waved goodbye to Professor McGonagall, and the purple triple-decker had disappeared with a BANG, that he realised the Dursleys probably wouldn't be home for a while yet. Harry sighed, set his trunk down on the driveway, and settled down to wait.

* * *

Harry's last month with the Dursleys went quite a bit different than it had in the first timeline. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon ignored him for the first week, while Dudley had become completely fixated on Harry. Aunt Petunia tried to stop her son from talking to Harry, but Dudley had managed to sneak into Harry's bedroom several times, questioning him endlessly about Hogwarts, the wizarding world, Diagon Alley and whether Harry thought Dudley could possibly at some point have another one of those delicious scones the scary lady had magicked up.  
They were sitting together in Dudley's bedroom on an early August morning, Dudley on his bed and Harry on the sofa in front of Dudley's gaming system, chatting about the things they thought Harry would soon be learning at Hogwarts. Harry had gotten used to having friendly conversations with his cousin by now, and had been pleasantly surprised at Dudley's new behaviour. Apparently not being cursed with a pig's tail and being offered a magical cream tea had made Dudley look at magic in a whole different way, and no matter what his parents said, he thought it was the best thing ever, and Harry the most interesting person ever by extension.

"I wish _I _could go to wizarding school," said Dudley wistfully, easily for the hundredth time. "You've got all the luck. I'll be stuck as a muggle going to Smeltings."

Harry gave his cousin a sympathetic look, and wondered how Professor McGonagall was getting on with asking Dumbledore to lift Dudley's lock on magical talent. Maybe Dudley simply was a muggle and there was no lock to be removed, like Professor McGonagall had said. Maybe Dumbledore had refused, not wanting to risk Harry getting kicked out from his aunt and uncle's house.  
He was just about to tell Dudley that he could feed Hedwig some owl treats in an attempt to cheer him up, when a blood-curdling scream rang through the house. Harry and Dudley looked at eachother, then stormed out of the room and down the landing to see what on earth was going on.

Harry stopped on the top of the stairs, almost being bowled over by Dudley when he charged into him. Aunt Petunia was standing in the hallway, staring with disbelief at the letter she was clutching in her hands. Harry's eyes widened as he recognised the yellowed parchment and emerald-green ink. _Could it be…?_  
Instead of giving his aunt the time to destroy the letter or react in any other way, Harry drew his wand from the pocket of his trousers with some difficulty. He really had to find some way to get easy access to it when he needed it, he reflected.

"Accio Dudley's letter," murmured Harry, and the letter flew out of Aunt Petunia's hands and up the stairs. "Come on!" yelled Harry at Dudley, catching the letter as it came sailing towards him, and legged it back to his cousin's room, while Aunt Petunia's shrieks rose up from the hallway.

Dudley flung the door shut behind him, and Harry started pushing the sofa towards the door. Dudley helped him stack the furniture in front of it until they were satisfied that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't be able to get through the blockade any time soon. They sat down on the bed, panting from the exertion. Harry turned the now slightly crumpled envelope over and read the address.

_Mr. D. Dursley_  
_The Second Largest Bedroom_  
_4 Privet Drive_  
_Little Whinging_  
_Surrey_

"Is that…" whispered Dudley, his eyes as large as saucers. Harry grinned and slapped his cousin on the back, thinking back to what Hagrid had said to him all those years ago.

"Ye're a wizard, Dudley!"


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of August was even less pleasant than Harry remembered. Harry and Dudley were both grounded for daring to read the letter (Dudley aghast at being punished for the first time in his life), Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had loud shouting matches every other day, and Dudley swung between manic excitement at finding out he was a wizard, and crushing despair that his parents weren't ever going to let him go to Hogwarts.

The start of September crept nearer, and still Dudley hadn't managed to convince his terrified, furious and heart-broken parents to let him go to wizarding school. Aunt Petunia had turned to acting like nothing had happened, icily ignoring Harry's very existence, and planning for Dudley's first day at Smeltings. Uncle Vernon, when he wasn't at work, stomped through the house like an angry rhinoceros, snapping and growling whenever anyone dared to speak to him.

Dudley had by now become frantic with fear. "They're never going to let me go," he said as they both sat in Harry's room. Hedwig sat perched on Dudley's shoulder, hooting in a comforting sort of way, as the large boy tried to hold back his tears.

"They're never going to let me go, I'll never be a wizard, they'll make me go to Smeltings, and – and –"

Harry, who had been turning the problem over in his head for the past few weeks and had come to the same conclusion, made up his mind. It was pretty obvious by now that help from Hogwarts wasn't coming forward. If he was serious about Dudley coming to Hogwarts with him, he'd have to make sure it happened.

"Sod what your parents want. If they still want to make you go to Smeltings on the last day of August, I'll take you to Diagon Alley myself to get your things, and we'll go to Hogwarts together anyway," he said firmly.

Dudley blinked at him in astonishment. "You will? But… but how? You don't have a car or anything, and Mum and Dad took away my muh-money." He hiccupped miserably.

"We'll sneak out and take the Knight Bus. Don't worry about money, I can lend you some for your stuff. We'll book a room in the Leaky Cauldron and stay over, and then get to King's Cross in the morning. Your parents won't be able to stop us."

"You really mean that?" said Dudley, his eyes wide.

Harry nodded. "I'm not going to let you rot here while I go to Hogwarts. We go together or we don't go at all."

Dudley frowned, and after a few moments of silence and an obvious struggle with his conscience, said: "I'm sorry I haven't been very nice to you. At school, and here, and everything."

Dudley looked like the apology had cost him a large amount of willpower, even if 'I haven't been nice to you' was the understatement of the century. Harry marvelled again at the change that had come over his cousin the last month. He knew his aunt and uncle never made Dudley apologise for anything, always defending him when he acted out or got reported for bullying other kids. For Dudley to come out and say something like this, he had to really mean it.

"Don't mention it," said Harry, unsure what else there was to say. It was hard to keep resenting Dudley for, essentially, being a stupid bullying kid in another timeline. It was mostly his aunt and uncle's fault that Dudley had turned out the way he did, and even then he'd started showing signs of turning things around. Besides, seeing him like this, like a miserable eleven-year-old kid who was pinning all his hopes on him, made it pretty much impossible to bear a grudge. "We're family, right? Family has to stick together." Dudley gave him an uncertain smile, and nodded.

* * *

The last day of August dawned, with the Dursleys no more willing to allow their son to attend Hogwarts as they'd been since Dudley's letter had arrived. Harry had contemplated simply sending Hedwig to Hogwarts with a letter, explaining the situation and asking for help, but had rejected the idea for a number of reasons. First of all, he wanted Dumbledore to believe for now that he was the same independent kid who had first arrived at Hogwarts with a healthy distrust in adults, and that kid would have definitely tried to solve things on his own. Second, he was curious to find out if either his Professors or the Ministry of Magic could tell when under-age children went missing. Cornelius Fudge had managed to find Harry when he'd run away from home at the start of his third year, but the Ministry had been watching Harry closely back then. That was definitely useful information if he had to go out horcrux-hunting on his own at some point before he came of age. Third, he had a number of things to purchase in Diagon Alley that he'd rather the Hogwarts staff didn't know about. If he ordered things by owl post, he'd be running the risk of having his packages searched. Best to buy them and bring them along in his brand new, spell-warded trunk.

Harry and Dudley had spent the previous day packing Dudley's things in one of the compartments of Harry's trunk. Harry had had to spend quite a bit of time convincing Dudley that none of his electronic entertainment would work at Hogwarts, as the magic interfered with the workings of anything that operated on electricity. He'd also limited Dudley from bringing his entire collection of toys, as despite being bigger on the inside than the outside, the space in his trunk was not unlimited, and everything would have to fit in Dudley's own trunk once they'd bought it.

Harry had crept into his aunt and uncle's bedroom during the night, and ever so carefully lifted Vernon's keys from his uncle's bedside table, where they laid next to his wallet and sunglasses. He now used it to unlock the front door while Dudley stood next to him blinking in the pre-dawn gloom. His cousin had complained quite a bit about the necessity of getting up at 5am, until Harry had lost his temper and yelled that if Dudley would rather stay at Privet Drive to sleep in and go to Smeltings instead of Hogwarts, he was welcome to it.

Harry sneaked out of the house, Dudley close on his heels. They carried Harry's trunk between them, each holding one of the handles, with Harry holding Hedwig's cage in his left hand. It made sneaking a bit more difficult, but not as difficult as it would have been without the built-in Featherweight Charm. Harry was glad he'd splurged a little when it came to that purchase.  
He wanted to set off immediately, but Dudley made him lock the front door first and slide the key back through the letterbox.

"I don't want my house to get burgled," said Dudley when Harry rose an eyebrow at him. "A lot of my stuff is still in there."

They hurried down the driveway and into Wisteria Lane. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't rise for another hour, when their alarm went off, but Harry would feel a lot better once they were safe and sound on the Knight Bus and out of his relatives' reach. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and thrust it into the air, waiting impatiently until the purple triple-decker bus materialised with a loud BANG and a sudden blinding light, startling Dudley so badly that he fell backwards on his large behind. Harry laughed, both in amusement and relief, and helped Dudley up as the bus doors slid open.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard." The teenage girl standing on the steps of the bus entrance was most definitely not Stan Shunpike, as he'd been vaguely expecting, although she looked about his age. Harry realised that at the moment Stan wasn't quite old enough yet to have a job, and of course there would be more than one conductor for the Knights Bus. He thought back to his trip on the bus with Professor McGonagall - their conductor had been a middle-aged wizard with Indian features, he remembered now.

"Please stick out your wand arm, step on board, and we'll take you anywhere you want to go," said the unfamiliar girl proudly. "My name is Emily Fenwick, and I'll be your conductor this morning. Would you need any assistance with your trunk?"

"No thanks," said Harry, lifting up his end of the trunk. He had to kick Dudley, who was still staring at the bus, in the ankles to get him to pick up his end. Emily Fenwick moved out of the way, and they climbed on board with a bit of jostling.

"How much for two tickets to the Leaky Cauldron?" said Harry, setting Hedwig's cage and his end of the trunk down and grabbing his mokeskin pouch, which hung on a loop from his belt.

"One Galleon and five Sickles, or one Galleon thirteen Sickles if you want a cup of tea with biscuits."

"One Galleon, five Sickles," said Harry to his pouch, which spit the requested sum into his hand. He'd discovered that the mokeskin pouch could count, which was a lot easier than counting out the coins himself. He paid Emily, who tucked his trunk behind the driver's seat and one of the squashy armchairs that seemed to be dotted throughout the bus during daytime trips. Harry and Dudley chose an armchair each and settled down, Dudley's eyes roving around trying to take in everything.

"This bus is brilliant!" said his cousin. "But why didn't we get any tea? I'm hungry." He patted his large stomach, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Trust me, you wouldn't get the chance to enjoy it," he replied, tucking Hedwig's cage tightly between his knees. This proved to be prudent, as the Knight Bus suddenly leapt forward with another BANG, setting the armchairs skidding along the length of the bus.

The Knight Bus only had a few passengers at this early hour. A witch in tartan trousers was snoozing in one of the armchairs, while two rather shady-looking wizards in the back were bent over a copy of The Daily Prophet. Emily the conductor chatted away companionably as the bus trundled along country roads, through busy city streets and silent suburban lanes, occasionally noisily jumping to another location. Harry made up a story about meeting up with relatives in London for some last-minute Hogwarts shopping when asked why two kids were taking the Knight Bus on their own. Emily accepted his lie without comment, and reminisced about her own days at Hogwarts, mentioning that she'd left the school after getting her O.W.L.s.

"Wanted to do something more practical. Not everyone's cut out for the academical life," she said as the Knight Bus came to a screeching halt in front of the muggle entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. "Well, here you boys are. Have a good time at Hogwarts! Say hi to Professor Kettleburn if you see him, he was my favourite teacher. And to the Fat Friar!"

Harry and Dudley clambered down the steps, waving goodbye to Emily and watching the Knight Bus disappear with another BANG and a flash of light. Harry was relieved to find no Ministry officials or Hogwarts professors waiting for them, and led Dudley into the pub, hastily flattening his hair over his scar and hoping he wouldn't be accosted by the clientele. They could really do without attracting a huge amount of attention to themselves.

Tom the landlord recognised him as they walked up to the bar, but gave Harry a huge wink, tapping the side of his nose. "Don't you worry none sir, I ain't forgotten your lady professor's instructions." He winked again, and grinned toothlessly at Dudley, who looked terrified to have attracted the wizened wizard's attention. "One of your little friends, sir?"

"My cousin, actually. And thank you," said Harry, grateful for the landlord's discretion. After a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, he booked a room with two beds for the night. Harry made sure his trunk and Hedwig's cage were safely stored away before taking his cousin out into the backyard behind the pub, tapping the third brick from the left above the rubbish bin, and standing back as the archway into Diagon Alley opened in the wall. Dudley gaped as the bricks wriggled and rearranged themselves, and Harry remembered his own amazement at seeing the same thing happen, the realisation that magic was actually, irrevocably real taking shape in his mind.  
Dudley walked through the alley rubbernecking in an attempt to see everything at once, stopping at all the display windows to press his nose against the glass and peer inside. Harry prodded Dudley every now and again to keep him moving, but let him explore the Alley freely as long as they kept moving towards Gringotts. He felt rather like an indulgent older brother, despite being the same physical age as his cousin.

They visited the goblin bank to top up Harry's spending money, as he'd promised to buy Dudley's school things, but Harry also made sure to ask for a copy of the details of his accounts and assets. This seemed to be a problematic request, and Harry's account manager, a goblin who had been called in hastily and gruffly introduced himself as Giznak, told him that Gringotts couldn't authorise the disclosure of those documents without several forms signed by Harry's guardian.

"But my uncle and aunt won't ever sign those forms," said Harry, thoroughly annoyed.

Giznak gave him a rather blank look. "The legal guardian we have on file for you is Sirius Black, as appointed by your late parents," said the goblin in his gravelly voice. "As Mr. Black is currently a convicted prisoner serving a term of undetermined length in Azkaban, guardianship has been appointed to one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, at the latter's request."

Harry thanked Giznak for his time, and left Gringotts stewing with anger. Dumbledore was his legal guardian, and responsible for overseeing all his accounts? The idea of the man having this degree of control over him disturbed Harry thoroughly. He'd need to get Sirius appointed as his guardian as soon as possible. At least he now had a plausible excuse to inquire after his godfather's conviction.

* * *

Harry and Dudley spent the morning shopping for Dudley's school supplies, getting him fitted for robes and picking out a school trunk of his very own, before moving on to Ollivander's. Dudley had been eager to get a wand ever since he'd seen Harry summon his Hogwarts letter, and squealed with delight when, after being presented with a dozen or so other ones, Ollivander finally handed him a wand that produced a stream of iridiscent bubbles when Dudley waved it around.

"Oak, dragon heartstring, 10 inches," said Mr. Ollivander as he placed Dudley's new wand in its velvet-lined box. "A little bendy. I hope it will serve you well, Mr. Dursley."

They had lunch in one of the little cafes that dotted the Alley, Harry drawing up a mental list of the private purchases he wanted to make after their meal, Dudley excitedly prattling away about the sights in Diagon Alley and the things they'd bought for him. Harry asked his cousin if he wanted to take a pet to Hogwarts, and Dudley, whose mother had never allowed any animals in the house on account of the shedded hairs and general mess, nodded eagerly.

Harry left Dudley at the Magical Menagerie so he could pick out a pet, made him promise to stay put until Harry came back to pick him up, and set out into the Alley on his own. His first purchase was a wand holder that strapped to his lower arm, which sent his wand zooming into his hand when he flicked his wrist the right way. He bought a pair of proper shoes in a store that sold leather goods, magically molded to fit his feet perfectly, and visited Flourish and Blott's again with a list of books on subjects such as Time Travel and the Dark Arts, and the tome on hexes and curses that Professor McGonagall had stopped him from buying the first time. The bookshop's manager gave him a dubious look when he presented his collection for purchase, and looked like he was about to comment before Harry hurriedly thrust his money towards him and gathered his small library up in his mokeskin pouch.  
After visiting a number of other stores for all the things he had thought he'd need or would come in handy, Harry returned to the Magical Menagerie and found Dudley cooing over a fluffy ginger kitten with an oddly squashed face. It squinted up at Harry, swatting at him with its slightly bowlegged paws, and Harry realised why it looked so familiar.

"I want this one!" said Dudley happily, as the kitten started gnawing on his finger. "What do you think I should name him?"

"How about Crookshanks?" said Harry, grinning at the part-kneazle kitten in his cousin's arms.

* * *

They had steak and ale pie with chips for their dinner in the Leaky Cauldron, and spent the rest of the evening in their room playing wizard chess with Dudley's new set, while little Crookshanks ran around exploring, occasionally trotting back to Dudley to be rubbed under his chin.

Harry laid awake long after they went to bed, silvery moonlight filtering through the curtains and bathing the room in a blue glow while Dudley's snores made the furniture vibrate gently. Tomorrow, he'd meet his friends, arrive at Hogwarts, and start his plan to save the world. He'd prepared as best he could in the months leading up to this point. Planned out how to make sure he'd be friends with Ron and Hermione again - and Neville and the rest of Dumbledore's Army. Harry grimaced. If he set up that particular group again, he'd be sure to call it something else.

First impressions were incredibly important. Look at how different his first meeting with Draco Malfoy had turned out, and how much more agreeable the boy had been with him. He couldn't risk doing something to upset the fragile, initial friendships he'd created at Hogwarts.  
Another first meeting he was glad to do over, namely the one with Snape. Harry had had a lot of time to think over what he'd seen in the dying man's memories during the summer months. It had put his actions over the length of Harry's school career in a completely new perspective. He'd been a constant reminder of Snape's hopeless love for Lily, a reminder that James Potter, and not Severus Snape, had wedded his mother and had a child with her. No wonder the man had been prejudiced and vicious towards him - how would he have reacted to being constantly confronted with Ginny's child if she'd married Draco Malfoy? He hoped he wouldn't have been as horrid, but the truth was that Harry really couldn't tell himself with certainty that he would have acted that much differently.  
Besides, as far as Harry could see Snape was the most independent professor at Hogwarts. He had turned his back on Voldemort for Lily's sake, not because he was especially loyal to Dumbledore. If Harry could get Snape to overcome his animosity towards him, could make him think of Harry as Lily's son rather than James' brat...if he could make the man his ally rather than Dumbledore's...

Harry drifted off into an uneasy sleep, plagued with dreams about being rejected by his friends and poisoned by Snape, while Dumbledore looked on with twinkling eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry and Dudley arrived at King's Cross without incident, laden with their trunks, Hedwig's cage and Crookshanks' cat carrier.

"I can't see a platform nine and three-quarter's anywhere," said Dudley, as they walked through the station pushing their trolleys ahead of them. They were getting funny looks from the muggles around them, probably because of Hedwig's cage, which was perched on top of Harry's trunk.

"I can't either," said Harry, craning his neck to look over the crowd, scanning the heads for a glimpse of red Weasley hair. He'd made sure they arrived well in time so they wouldn't miss his first meeting with Ron's family. Harry was looking forward to seeing the Weasleys again. They'd been the family he'd never had, and after a summer with the Dursleys he was aching to see some friendly, freckly faces.

They made their way to the barrier between platform nine and ten, where Harry knew the concealed entrance was located, and looked around, Dudley getting agitated again.

"What if we can't find the platform and miss the train?" said Dudley anxiously. "What if it leaves without us? We'd be - oh no!"

Harry stopped his search of the crowd for the Weasleys to look at his cousin, who had gone as white as a sheet. He followed Dudley's gaze, trying to see what had upset the boy so much, and his heart almost stopped when he saw what Dudley had: Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, accompanied by what looked like two muggle police officers, striding through the station.

Harry tried to calm his hammering heart, while Dudley next to him started muttering "We're doomed, we're doomed, we're doomed" over and over. They should just make their way through the barrier now, it was the safest option. But what if it made them miss the Weasley family? They could hide in the crowd and wait for the Dursley's to pass, and hope to hell that those two police officers were the only ones in the station...

Unfortunately, Harry's dithering cost them precious seconds. Aunt Petunia had spotted them, and she started shouting at Uncle Vernon and the police officers, gesturing towards Harry and Dudley. "Let's go!" he yelled at Dudley, as the Dursleys moved towards them in a frantic rush, pushing their way through the crowd.

"There's nowhere to go _to_!" Dudley wailed, wringing his hands. Harry swore, and shoved the trolley holding his trunk and Hedwig's cage through the barrier leading towards platform nine and three-quarters. Grabbing Dudley's from his cousin's unresisting hands, he wheeled it towards the barrier and struggled to drag Dudley behind him with his free hand. Dudley was slow to move, not understanding where Harry wanted him to go, and Harry tugged at him impatiently, yelling: "Come on!", while looking over his shoulder at the search party, which was swiftly drawing nearer. Uncle Vernon's face was red as a beet as he half-ran half-waddled towards them, and he looked like he would like nothing more than to beat the snot out of Harry as soon as he got his hands on him. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, looked absolutely terrified, and as she came in hearing distance Harry could hear her cry out for Dudley. In that instance she sounded so much like her sister Lily, pleading for her son like Harry's mother had done all those years ago, that Harry almost stopped moving altogether. _You're stealing her only son away from her, _Harry thought, feeling physically ill. But he wasn't trying to kill Dudley, he was trying to help him...

Dudley slammed into Harry as he finally started moving, and their combined momentum set them barreling through the magic barrier just as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon reached them. Aunt Petunia had the time to wail: "Dudley!" before they were obscured from her sight.

Harry let go of Dudley's trolley and stood bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. Dudley was looking around in bewilderment. "We found it!" he said, pointing at the wrought-iron archway that stood where the barrier had been, the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters emblazoned on the sign above it. Harry watched as the Dursleys stood in front of the barrier, helplessly banging their hands against what was a wall on their end. It looked odd, like they were standing in front of an invisible window that blocked out all noise. The muggle police officers had caught up with them and were eyeing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon with raised eyebrows. They'd obviously not seen exactly what had happened in all the excitement.

One of the police officers put his hand on Aunt Petunia's bony shoulder, and, after speaking a few words, managed to lead her away from the barrier. Aunt Petunia kept looking back helplessly, while Uncle Vernon erupted into an angry rant. Harry's attention was torn away from the view through the archway as he heard an owl shrieking loudly, and he hurried over to where Hedwig's cage laid on its side, flung from the trolley by being shoved through the barrier. He apologised to her profusely and set her back on his trunk, glad that the trolley hadn't rolled straight into someone. That had been a close call. Of course the Dursleys would do anything to find their precious Diddykins and bring him back home again, and he should have realised that Aunt Petunia knew that Lily had always taken the Hogwarts Express from King's Cross, even if she didn't know how to get to the right platform. He silently cursed himself for not thinking of the possibility. What else had he not thought of? What other angles was he missing?

"We're so going to be in trouble for this," said Dudley anxiously, as he watched his parents retreat back into the muggle part of King's Cross.

"Well, it looks like they can't get to us for the moment. I'm sure they'll cool off after a while," replied Harry, not feeling sure about that at all.

Harry let Dudley lead him down the platform, smoke from the scarlet Hogwarts Express steam engine drifting over the heads of the chattering crowd. Dudley was saying something to him, but Harry couldn't hear his cousin over the babble of the crowd and the scraping of heavy trunks, lost as he was in his own thoughts. This was really bad. Even if those police officers dismissed the thought that Harry and Dudley had somehow gone through the barrier and simply assumed they'd managed to get lost in the crowd, they'd still make a huge fuss in the muggle side of King's Cross, probably closing the exits and mounting a search of the station. It was precisely the sort of high alert situation that the wizarding families bringing their children to platform nine and three-quarters on their first day of school could do without. Harry hoped guiltily that the ruckus wouldn't prevent anyone from actually making it onto the platform.

They almost passed a round-faced boy and older witch without a second glance, until Harry heard the witch say: "Now, Neville, are you sure you have all your things this time?"

"I think so, Gran," said Neville Longbottom miserably, and Harry had to do a doubletake to recognise his friend. Had Neville really been that small, pudgy and terrified when he first met him? He bore very little resemblance to the determined young man clearing away bodies on the battlefield, grimly accepting his task to kill Voldemort's snake when Harry had asked him to. Harry couldn't stop himself from stopping and staring, and only looked up when Dudley nudged him, looking at him oddly.

Pulling himself together, Harry walked over to Neville and his grandmother, Dudley trailing after him. It had been quite some time before Neville and he had become friends. Harry intended to befriend his fellow Gryffindor a lot sooner this time around.

"Are you first year too?" he said, smiling at Neville. The Longbottoms turned towards him, Madam Longbottom looking down on him imperiously, while Neville nodded shyly.

"So are we. I'm Harry Potter, and this is my cousin Dudley Dursley." He held out his hand.

"Are you really?" gasped Neville, and jumped when his grandmother prodded him in the back with her umbrella. "I mean, sorry, Neville Longbottom, pleased to make your acquaintance," the boy corrected himself hurriedly, falling back on formalities that had been drilled into him since childhood and shaking Harry's hand profusely. After another prod of the umbrella, he added: "And this is my gran - grandmother, Augusta Longbottom."

"Pleased to meet you, madam," said Harry, shaking hands with Mrs. Longbottom as well, as Neville and Dudley exchanged awkward greetings.

"And you, Mr. Potter," replied Mrs. Longbottom. "Do forgive my grandson his manners, it's not the only thing he forgets sometimes."

Neville shrunk visibly, and Harry recalled how the boy's confidence had suffered under his domineering grandmother.

"I think your parents and mine used to be friends," said Harry in an attempt to cheer the boy up. Neville looked up at him, then to his gran, who nodded.

"My son and his wife indeed knew your parents. They were aurors back in the war, you know. Highly gifted, the pair of them." She gave Neville a disappointed sort of look, clearly wanting to say _unlike my grandson_, and Neville, who had stood up a bit straighter when Harry told him their parents had been friends, shrunk back down again.

"Well, I hope we can be friends too," said Harry, smiling at Neville, which pleased the boy so much he coloured bright red. "See you at Hogwarts!"

They set off again, Dudley complaining that Neville had looked like a wimp, and why would Harry want to be friends with him? Harry started to reply something about not going on appearances, when he heard a women say: "... even more packed with muggles. You'd better go and contact the Ministry, Arthur, or we'll have at least a dozen breaches of the Statute of Secrecy before the day is over. I can't believe those awful people... trying to stop children from going to school!"

Harry wheeled around until he spotted the Weasley family hurrying past them, and broke into a run to keep up with them.

"Excuse me!" he called out. "Ex-Excuse me!"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley halted and turned around to face him, as the rest of the family wandered onwards, unaware that their parents weren't following anymore. "Yes dear?" said Mrs. Weasley. Harry was hit by a surge of happiness on seeing the woman, who had been a surrogate mother to him for many years, smile down on him again.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhearing... that's my aunt and uncle out there," said Harry. Dudley had finally caught up with him, huffing and wheezing as he brought his trolley to a stop next to Harry's.

"Your aunt and - they're looking for you?" said Mr. Weasley, frowning. "Are you the boys that ran away from home?"

"They wouldn't let us come to Hogwarts," said Harry, Dudley nodding vigorously next to him. Mrs. Weasley made a worried noise and looked up at her husband, pity plain on her face.

"You really shouldn't have run away, dears," she said, bending down slightly so her face was more level with Harry and Dudley's. "Didn't Professor McGonagall come by to speak with your parents? She usually does for muggleborns, to prevent just this thing from happening. You should've sent your owl to Hogwarts to let the teachers know there were any problems."

"We were so worried about not being allowed to go, we didn't know what else to do," said Harry, looking down at his shoes.

"They locked us up!" said Dudley, who had decided to join the conversation when it didn't seem apparent that they were in trouble. "They wouldn't let us out of the house at all. They wanted me to go to Smeltings, and Harry to Stonewall High."

"Harry -" Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's eyes simultaneously flew to Harry's forehead, but his scar was obscured by his thick black hair, which was laying down smoothly thanks to several helpings of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. "Surely not... Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, and the Weasleys exchanged looks.

"You poor dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "Don't you worry now, just get on the train with the other children. I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore will talk some sense into your aunt and uncle when you're both safe and sound at Hogwarts."

"What about the police? I saw them, they're looking for us," fretted Dudley.

"Arthur will get in touch with the Ministry and get everything sorted out," said Mrs. Weasley, proudly beaming at her husband. "Won't you, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley looked less than impressed at being saddled with the responsibility to get everything sorted out, but nodded seriously. Mr and Mrs. Weasley escorted them to the compartments near the end of the train, where their children were busy lugging their trunks aboard.

"Fred, George, help these two boys with their trunks, would you?" called Mrs. Weasley, and Harry's heart lurched as the twins turned around to look at him curiously. Fred Weasley grinning at him, alive. Harry swallowed, and his eye was caught by another, smaller red-headed child.

A ten-year-old Ginny, only vaguely resembling the young witch he'd left behind in the other timeline.

Harry was saved from the whirlwind of emotion that threatened to overtake him by the twins, who came over to help him and Dudley with their trunks, laughing and joking as they tucked the trunks away in the luggage rack.

"Thanks!" said Harry, and nudged Dudley in the ribs until he thanked the twins as well.

"No problem!"

"Glad to help!"

"Say, you look a bit like..."

"Fred? George? Where are you?" called Mrs. Weasley from outside the train.

"Coming, Mum."

The twins hopped off the train, and Harry and Dudley sat down next to the window. It had felt immeasurably good to hear Fred and George finish each other's sentences again, and Harry thought that for the moment, all was right with the world.

"I hope Mum and Dad are alright," said Dudley, as Harry peered out of the window at the red-haired Weasley family, who were gathering all the children around for their goodbyes. "I hope that professor tells them to let us go to Hogwarts, like those people on the platform said."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," replied Harry, grinning as he watched Ron loudly complaining at getting fussed over by his mother, while the twins looked on and chuckled.

"Yeah. This train is amazing though! I thought we'd, I dunno, fly broomsticks to school or something. But this is cool too," said Dudley happily, clearly over his momentary lapse into thoughtfulness. He leaned back in the comfortable leather seat, grinning broadly.

On the platform, Percy arrived to join the family, dressed in his Hogwarts uniform with his shiny new Prefect badge pinned on the front. The twins teased him for a bit, and Percy set off to the car that was reserved for Prefects in a huff. Harry wondered if Percy had always felt like the family outcast. The boy's pride and ambition had caused a rift in his family which had upset the Weasleys greatly. He'd have to see if he could do anything about that, but Harry thought he didn't have much hope for toning down Percy's infatuation with the Ministry.

Talk on the platform turned to Harry, and he sat back from the window as Fred, George and Ginny started talking over each other excitedly, Ginny jumping up and down to try and look through the windows. They received the same stern talking-to from Mrs. Weasley as before, and Fred, George and Ron climbed aboard as the whistle signalling departure sounded.

The train began to move, and Harry and Dudley watched the platform disappear, Dudley excited at the novelty of it all, Harry nervous at the crucial hours and days that lay ahead.


	9. Chapter 9

The door of the compartment slid open, and Ron came in, to Harry's relief.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head mutely, and Ron sat down. He glanced at Harry and then at Dudley.

"Hi," said Dudley. "You're first year too?"

Ron nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the return of the Weasley twins.

"Hey Ron, we're going to move to the middle of the train. Going to check out Lee Jordan's giant tarantula."

"Go on then," mumbled Ron, and Harry had to stop himself smirking. Ron really hated spiders, no wonder he hadn't wanted to come along with his brothers.

"Harry," said George, "I don't think we've introduced ourselves. Fred and George Weasley. That's our brother Ron. Hair might've given it away. Who's your mate?"

"My cousin Dudley," said Harry, as Dudley grinned at the twins.

"Pleased to meetcha. See you later, then."

"Bye," said Harry, Dudley and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" said Ron, as soon as the compartment door was closed.

Harry nodded, and pulled his bangs back to show his lightning scar, while Dudley looked at him with a puzzled expression on his pudgy face. Harry hadn't wanted to tell him he was famous in the wizarding world when it wasn't clear yet that Dudley was coming to Hogwarts too - it had seemed like rubbing it in a bit too much - and hadn't remembered to tell him after his cousin had gotten his letter.

Ron was still staring at his scar.

"So that's where You-Know-Who..."

"Hit me with the Killing Curse, yes," said Harry, "but I can't really remember much of it."

"But you can remember something?" said Ron eagerly.

"A flash of green light, but that's it, really."

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly at Dudley.

"And you're his cousin?"

Dudley nodded, looking at Harry in confusion. "He's lived with me and my parents ever since the accident."

Ron rose his eyebrows. "Accident?"

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry hurriedly. He really needed to brief Dudley on what had really happened the night his parents had died, before the wizarding world started thinking he'd lost his marbles.

"Er - Yeah, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we don't really talk about him."

A squib in Ron's family? Harry hadn't realised this the last time around. He found it a bit disturbing that the Weasleys didn't have anything to do with the second cousin at all. That was the sort of thing he expected from the Malfoys, not the friendly and warm Weasley family.

They talked about their respective families for a while, Ron moping about the weight of the expectations his older brothers had heaped on him, Dudley regaling them with tales of how horrible Aunt Marge was. Harry had never realised Dudley hated Aunt Marge as much as he did, even if he acted otherwise for the money and toys she got him. Out of respect for Dudley, he didn't badmouth his aunt and uncle, but the story of their escape was too exciting for Dudley not to share.

"They locked you in the house so you couldn't come to Hogwarts? That's horrible!" said Ron, indignant on their behalf. "Why didn't you send an owl though?" He gestured at Hedwig.

"Didn't know how," said Harry, petting Hedwig through the bars of her cage. The conversation turned to pets, with Dudley telling them how smart his little Crookshanks was, and Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out -

"This is Scabbers. He's useless, all he does is sleep. Percy got his owl, Hermes, from my dad when he got made prefect, but they didn't have- I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears turned pink, but Harry's were filled with a dull roar as he looked at the animagus responsible for his parents' death being deposited on the table. He resisted the urge to pull out his wand and curse the rat. Ron - and everyone else - would think he was deranged. He'd gone through that sort of thing back in his fifth year, he really didn't need a replay during his first.

"Don't really like rats," muttered Harry through clenched teeth.

"Oh, sorry," said Ron, and he stuffed Pettigrew back in his pocket.

The conversation flowed even more easily than it had in the other timeline, Dudley's presence seemingly putting Ron at ease. Ron was telling them all about what life was like in a wizarding household, while Harry and Dudley told him how things went in the muggle world, when the food trolley clattered to a stop outside their compartment. Harry jumped up and bought a bit of everything on the cart for his companions, tipping the sweets, cakes and pasties onto one of the empty seats.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snorted when Ron pulled out his sad little lunch. "I got some for all of us. Tuck in!"

They set to eating their way through the Honeydukes lunch, Ron explaining the concept of Chocolate Frog Collectable Cards. Dudley loved them, entranced by the little moving portraits on the cards, and Harry handed the ones that had been in his Frogs to his cousin. He wrinkled his nose at the Dumbledore card. If he needed Ron and Hermione to figure out that the thing hidden at Hogwarts was a Philosopher's Stone, he could always ask Dudley to see it again.  
They were eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, exclaiming and laughing over the flavours they got, when someone knocked on their compartment door. It turned out to be Neville, who looked close to tears.

"Sorry," he said, "have you seen a toad around here?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps running off!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry. "Want some Bertie Bott's?"

Neville shook his head miserably. "I've got to find Trevor. Thanks anyway."

"Don't know why he bothers," said Ron, after Neville had left. "If I'd brought a toad I'd be happy for it to stay lost. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

Harry privately agreed, and looked up when the compartment door slid open again a few minutes later.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost his," said Hermione, and Harry grinned. He'd been looking forward to seeing his other friend again. Young Hermione sounded a lot more snooty than the more laid-back Hermione from the future, and had rather larger front teeth, but aside from that it was like seeing his Hermione in miniature.

"He hasn't been along since we last saw you," said Dudley to Neville. "Harry can make things fly towards him though. Why don't you try it on his toad, Harry?"

Four sets of eyes focussed on Harry, who sighed inwardly. Ah well, better to get a reputation as a prodigy from the start, right? It'd give him some sort of cover if he forgot not to use any spells they hadn't learned yet. He flicked his wrist, and his wand flew from its holder into his hand with a soft _thwap_.

"Oh, are you doing magic? I've been practising at home myself, I think it's so important to get a good start, don't you?" said Hermione, sitting down next to Ron. "Just a few simple spells of course, but they've all worked for me. Go on, let's see it then."

Harry concentrated on Trevor, picturing the toad in his mind's eye, and said: "Accio Trevor!"

They sat in silence for a few moments as nothing happened, and Hermione was about to open her mouth to tell him that well, that spell was not very good, was it, when a panicked sort of croaking suddenly drew nearer, accompanied by a faint wooshing sound.

"Trevor!" exclaimed Neville as the toad zoomed into the compartment. Harry caught the toad with two hands, thankful that the compartment door had still been open. He really should have checked that before Summoning it.

"That's amazing!" said Hermione, who was looking wide-eyed at Harry. "Summoning Charms are really advanced. You must be a brilliant wizard!"

Harry couldn't stop himself from blushing slightly. Hermione had always been far more abundant with her criticism than her praise, and even if this was her eleven-year-old self, he still felt inexplicably pleased that she'd been impressed.

"Thanks, Harry," piped Neville, taking Trevor off his hands.

"You're welcome," said Harry. "Now, will you help us eat these sweets? We can't possibly finish them off on our own."

They agreed, Neville helping himself to a Pumpkin Pasty, while Hermione selected a Flossing Stringmint. They all introduced themselves to each other, and Hermione gasped predictably when Harry told her his name.

"Harry Potter? I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

Harry, who had bought himself the same books, feigned ignorance. "Really? I'll have to get a copy of those then, I wonder what they wrote about me."

"Do you know what house you'll be in?" continued Hermione. "I've been asking around, and Gryffindor sounds the best from what I've heard, but I suppose Ravenclaw would be alright as well."

"If you got all those books for background reading, I'd reckon you'll be going to Ravenclaw for sure," said Ron, and Hermione looked pleased. "Yes well, intelligence and knowledge aren't everything, you know," she said, and Ron rolled his eyes when he was sure she wasn't looking.

"I'll probably be in Hufflepuff," said Neville gloomily.

"I wouldn't want to be in Hufflepuff," said Dudley, who had learned about the Hogwarts houses from Harry over the summer. "Sounds like that's where all the people who do all the actual work go!"

Harry suppressed a chuckle, and when Ron said that his entire family had been in Gryffindor, told him that his parents had, too.

"We could be housemates," he said, grinning broadly, and Ron grinned back a little uncertainly.

The talk went from Houses to quidditch (Ron enthusiastically explaining the finer points of the game to an intrigued Dudley) to the break-in at Gringotts, which had made the front page of The Daily Prophet. Hermione turned the conversation to the subjects they'd be studying at Hogwarts, and Neville ventured that he'd be looking forward to Herbology, as he enjoyed spending time in the greenhouses of Verdant Court, the Longbottom estate. He was just telling them about a run-in he'd had with a Venomous Tentacula, after some encouragement from Harry, when the compartment doors slid open again.

Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. It was odd to see Crabbe again. The boy had wanted to kill Harry rather than turn him over to Voldemort, wanted to kill him so badly that he hadn't thought twice about destroying the Room of Requirement with Fiendfyre, and had perished in the attempt. Harry shivered, suddenly feeling very cold.

"Ah, there you are," said Malfoy, smirking at Harry. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment, you know. I'm surprised there wasn't a throng of admirers laying in wait outside the door, trying to get a look at you."

"Hi Malfoy," said Harry, forcing himself to return the smirk. "I'm glad there isn't. Want some sweets? We got a ton left over. Who are your friends?"

"Very kind of you," said Malfoy, sitting down in the single remaining seat, next to Dudley. "And they're not my friends, they're just..." he paused, trying to think of a word, and failing, "there. Anyway, these are Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. My name is Draco Malfoy," he added for the benefit of the other people in the compartment.

Ron disguised his snigger with a badly-acted cough. Draco looked at him, narrowing his eyes, and Harry hurriedly said: "Cauldron Cake?"

Draco accepted the cake, still eyeing Ron, but he kept quiet. The conversation started up again, occasionally interrupted as Harry prevented Ron or Draco from leading the conversation into potentially dangerous territory. Crabbe and Goyle simply stood outside of the compartment, eyeing the remaining sweets with greedy eyes, but remaining silent.

Harry peered out of the window, listening to Hermione and Draco talk about Transfiguration, which they both seemed to agree was the most interesting subject by far. He idly wondered how Draco would react if Harry told him Hermione was muggleborn - he'd probably run off to have a shower for having dirtied himself with the presence of a mudblood. It was extremely odd to hear one of his best friends and his sworn enemy have an amicable conversation, while he coud still vividly remember cheering Hermione for slapping Draco across the face. Ron and Dudley were chatting about the differences and similarities between quidditch and football, while Neville had fallen quiet, absentmindedly petting Trevor. Crabbe and Goyle had wandered off a while ago, looking for some other compartment so they could sit down.

It was getting dark. Mountains and forests rolled by the window under a dark, purple sky. _We must be getting closer to the castle,_ Harry thought, and said so to his companions.

"Oh! We'd better hurry up and put on our robes," said Hermione, rising from her seat. "Come on, Neville."

Hermione and Neville left, followed by Draco, who claimed he'd better go find Crabbe and Goyle before they managed to miss their stop.

"They seemed nice," remarked Dudley, rubbing his belly contentedly. He was responsible for most of the discarded wrappers littering the compartment.

"I dunno about that Malfoy kid," said Ron darkly. "I've heard of his family. They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been under the Imperius Curse all along. My dad doesn't believe a word of it. He says Lucius Malfoy didn't need to be cursed to go over to the Dark Side."

"Malfoy's not his parents though," said Harry. "Look at Dudley, he loves magic, while his parents hate it." Dudley nodded in agreement.

"I guess..." said Ron doubtfully.

They got up and changed into their robes, while a disembodied voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Dudley looked as nervous as Harry had felt the first time he arrived at Hogwarts, and Ron was looking pale under his freckles. They joined the crowd gathering in the corridor, being pushed and shoved as more people came out of their compartments. Harry winced as his foot was trodden on, and almost fell over as the train came to a full stop. People pushed their way toward the door and out into the cold night air, onto a tiny, dark platform. Harry braced himself as he stepped down the stairs, timing his moment...

He tripped and fell forwards, flinging his glasses into the crowd milling around on the platform.

"Are you alright?" he heard Ron say, as he scrambled upright again.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Stupid stairs. Lost my glasses, though," replied Harry, squinting into the dark. Everything around him was obscured in a haze.

"Harry, are you okay?" Neville's voice, drawing towards him. "Where're your..."

Harry heard a crunch, and Neville let out a sorrowful "Oops." _That wasn't quite part of the plan_, Harry thought, but he supposed broken glasses would do just as well as lost ones. Neville pushed Harry's glasses into his hands, and apologised over and over for being so clumsy as they made their way towards the lake. Ron and Dudley helped him navigate the steep, narrow path downwards, for which he was very grateful.

"It's alright Neville, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have seen them in the dark. I'm sure one of the professors can fix them," said Harry, as people started ooh-ing and aah-ing over their first sight of the castle.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, and Harry, Dudley, Ron and Neville clambered into one of the little vessels. It was a shame that he was missing the impressive view of the castle from the lake, but Harry had reckoned that getting Snape to be more agreeable would involve him looking as little as his father as possible. Hence why he'd gotten rid of his glasses on purpose, and why his otherwise unruly hair had been tamed with a quarter bottle of Sleekeazy's.

The little fleet of boats set off towards the castle, gliding across the lake, wrapped in a cocoon of nervous silence.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I got so many reviews asking for an update soon, that I decided to post Chapter 10 early as well. Thanks so much for all the reviews, they really motivate me to keep writing! Consider this a little present for those that took the time to do so :) After this, updates will once again become weekly, and they should become a bit longer as well as we get into the main meat of the story. **

* * *

They were standing in the small chamber off the entrance hall, rather more closely together than strictly comfortable, listening to Professor McGonagall's Sorting speech.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school," concluded Professor McGonagall. "I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." To Harry's surprise, she then turned towards him and Dudley. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Dursley, wait for me outside the Great Hall after the Feast is finished. Don't look so glum, Mr. Dursley," she added as Dudley shrunk in on himself like a failed souffle, "You're not in any trouble."

_This has to be something to do with the Dursleys and their police-assisted search,_ Harry thought. He hoped his aunt and uncle hadn't caused too many problems. Had Mr. Weasley been able to settle things through the ministry? Had the Dursleys started crowing about wizards and magic in the middle of King's Cross? He grimaced at the thought.  
Harry's anxious thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the resident Hogwarts ghosts. "Emily Fenwick says hi!" Harry blurted out as the Fat Friar glided by, remembering the conductor's request.

"Does she now?" said the Hufflepuff ghost, smiling down on Harry as the rest of the first-years looked on in muted terror. "Always liked that girl, good head on her shoulders. You lot are new students, I guess? About to be sorted?"

A couple of the first years nodded.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Gran would disown me if I ended up in Hufflepuff," muttered Neville as the ghosts exited the chamber through the wall.

"Who cares what your Gran thinks?" said Harry, slightly annoyed. He wished Neville would buck up already and get on with becoming more independent. "So what if you end up in Hufflepuff? Are loyalty and being a hard worker such horrible traits to have? That doesn't sound that bad to me, really. I don't get why everyone thinks Hufflepuff is such a lame house to end up in."

"Quite right, Mr. Potter. All Houses have their strengths as well as failings, and none is better - or worse - than the others."

Professor McGonagall had returned, and after a quick look-over of the group, led the first-years out into the entrance hall. They trailed behind her like ducklings, across the hall and through the tall double doors that led into the Great Hall.

Gasps came from the line of new students as they made their entrance. Harry's heart warmed at the sight - blurred as it was through his lack of glasses - of the Great Hall, without any signs of battle, lit by thousands of candles that bathed it in a warm, golden light, added to by the reflection off the golden plates and goblets that decked the four House tables. The ceiling reflected the velvety black sky outside, dotted with stars, unobscured by a single cloud. Home again, thought Harry, as the Sorting Hat started its song. Soon he'd be sitting at the table with his fellow Gryffindors again, enjoying the excellent food the house-elves had prepared, celebrating his Sorting and laughing along with the Weasleys. He smiled, as "Boot, Terry" got Sorted into Ravenclaw.

Professor McGonagall moved down the list of students, past "Brown, Lavender" and "Cornfoot, Stephen" until they reached the Ds with "Davis, Tracey", who got sorted into Slytherin.

"Dursley, Dudley!" Professor McGonagall called out, and Dudley set off towards the Sorting Hat in a frightened sort of waddle. He sat down on the rickety stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on his round head.

The Sorting Hat was silent for quite some time. Harry couldn't blame it: he didn't have any idea what House Dudley embodied, either. He wasn't particularly smart, hadn't done a day's hard work in his life, hadn't shown any ambition past filling his large stomach and bullying smaller kids, and when confronted with scary situations usually shrieked like a girl and hid behind his mother's skirts.

The Hat finally opened the tear along its brim that functioned as its mouth, and shouted: "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry blinked. Dudley a Gryffindor? Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. He clapped politely with the rest of the students, while his cousin trotted off to the Gryffindor table, seating himself next to Percy Weasley, who shook his hand.

Harry puzzled over his cousin's Sorting as the list moved further down the alphabet, finally torn from his musings at the sound of a familiar name.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. The hat was silent for a few moments, and then -

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

Harry let out an astonished "Whu?", which made a few people look at him oddly.

"You didn't think that one would actually end up in Gryffindor, did you?" said Ron. "Ravenclaw if I ever saw one. She'll get on well with the rest of the know-it-alls, I've no doubt."

Harry's mind raced. Why had Hermione not been sorted into Gryffindor? Harry recalled her telling him that the Hat had thought of putting her in Ravenclaw, but decided on Gryffindor instead. Why had it Sorted differently this time? And if Hermione wasn't in Gryffindor, how was he going to make friends with her properly?

He truly began to panic when Neville, after a solid five-minute wait, got Sorted into "HUFFLEPUFF!". This couldn't be right! Neville belonged in Gryffindor, he was just as courageous as any of them! Everything was going completely wrong. How would he manage to stay friends with everyone if all of them ended up in different houses?

Malfoy at least got predictably sorted into "SLYTHERIN!", but Harry grew increasingly more agitated as the list went further down the alphabet. "Roper, Sophie" definitely hadn't been a Gryffindor the first time around, either. What was going on with the Sorting? Had something gone wrong with the Sorting Hat?

Harry stepped forward as he heard his own name being called out, whispers breaking out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

The Sorting Hat sank over his eyes, and Harry waited in the stuffy, slightly musty dark of its inside for the small voice in his ear.

"Hmm," said the Hat, "Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent - my goodness, yes."

Harry relaxed slightly, and thought: "I really want to go to Gryffindor." At least he'd be with Ron. He'd just have to find some way to make sure Hermione and Neville -

"Gryffindor? Oh dear Merlin, no no no. You're not one to storm off and save the world in a blaze of glory. Such plots, such plans... Your calculation would make old Salazar proud! Oh no, you clearly belong in - SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

Dead silence.

Harry sat on the stool, stunned, the Hat still over his eyes. "What? No!" he thought frantically. "I belong in Gryffindor! You can't -"

The Great Hall came back into blurry view as Professor McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat off Harry's head. "Go on, Mr. Potter, off to your House table," she said, her face carefully blank.

Harry stood up, the Great Hall still shrouded in silence. Hundreds of faces tracked his movements, which was made even more unsettling by the fact that he couldn't distinguish their features. Was Ron in there somewhere, disgusted at having almost befriended a Slytherin?  
As he set off towards the Slytherin table, shell-shocked, a slow clapping started somewhere at the High Table. He wondered if it was Dumbledore, or whether the man had been stunned into silence like the rest of the Great Hall.

Whoever it was, their clapping slowly got picked up by the rest of the Hall. As he drew nearer the Slytherin table, its occupants started cheering as well as clapping, the noise growing louder and louder as people stood up and started shouting: "We got Potter! Potter's ours!"  
Hands reached out towards him as he came to a halt at the table, trying to get to sit him next to them, and he could hear a familiar voice yell: "Over here, Potter!"  
He moved in the direction of Malfoy's voice, and was yanked down suddenly when the boy grabbed his arm and forced him in the seat next to him.

"I knew it! I just knew it!" Malfoy was shouting excitedly in his ear.

"That'll show the rest of them, they're always looking down their noses at us," an older voice yelled over the din. "Look who got Potter, though! See how they like that!"

"Did you see the look on Professor Snape's face?" a girl was laughing somewhere to his right. "He looked like he stole some candy right from underneath McGonagall's nose!"

"Her face when he started clapping!" someone else interjected. "I thought she'd turn him into a bat!"

People were shaking his hand and patting his back or any other part of him they could reach, and the din didn't die down until Professor Dumbledore himself got up and called for silence.  
Harry sat through the rest of the Sorting in a disoriented haze. People were still congratulating him - and themselves, for having landed the Boy-Who-Lived - and didn't seem to notice that the newest Slytherin was rather quiet. Harry vaguely registered Ron being sorted into Gryffindor, and budged over when "Zabini, Blaise" slipped next to him on the bench.

He came to himself a little when the Feast appeared on the table. People kept heaping food on his plate, accompanied by cries of: "You really should taste this, Potter!" Harry, who had been deprived of any sort of proper food over the summer, felt his stomach growl despite his distress, and he tucked in with the rest of the Slytherins.

"Of course, the house-elves at Malfoy Manor are rather more culinary refined, but Hogwarts grub isn't bad either," said Malfoy to Harry, piling more roast potatoes on his plate and smothering them in thick gravy.

"What're house-elves?" said Harry, remembering that he was supposed to be ignorant of a lot of things in the wizarding world.

"Of course - your muggle relatives wouldn't even know what a house-elf looked like if one bit them on the nose," laughed Malfoy. "House-elves are closely related to Brownies, they do all the jobs around a wizard home, like cooking and cleaning. Of course, only the well-off families get them." He preened, and Harry had to stop himself from smirking.

"Were you really raised by Muggles?" said the dark-skinned boy next to him. Harry didn't remember ever exchanging more than a few words with Blaise Zabini. Had he been in Voldemort's camp? Harry didn't think he'd have been invited to the Slug Club if he was, seeing how afraid Slughorn had been of the Death Eaters. He nodded, and sympathetic noises rose from the rest of the Slytherins, who weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were listening in on the conversation.

"Don't you worry Potter, Slytherin House at least makes sure our members know their way around in the wizarding world," said one of the older girls who was sitting on the other side of the table, opposite him. "We've got orientation and etiquette evenings that'll bring you up to speed with even the most demanding Purebloods."

"What happened to your glasses, Harry?" said Malfoy, eager to bring the conversation back to the two of them.

"Oh - someone stepped on them when we got off the train," said Harry, pulling his broken glasses out of his pocket and putting them next to his plate.

There was a frantic scramble as the older Slytherins closest to him tried to get hold of his glasses all at once. The girl who had told Harry about the etiquette evenings emerged from the fight victoriously, mending the glasses with a quick "Reparo".

"These are so horribly out of date," she said, frowning at the frame. "They don't suit your face at all. Here -" She tapped the glasses and they changed shape, elongating and becoming rectangular rather than round. Another scuffle broke out as several people started arguing about the design, shape and colour of the glasses. When they were finally handed back to him, Harry's glasses had a slim-line, rectangular design, the frame Slytherin green with different shades of the colour shot through in a mother of pearl effect, and little silver snakes adorned the arms.

"Thanks!" Harry said to the Slytherin table at large, the world coming into focus once more as he put on his new glasses.

"Can't have you running around looking like a house-elf, Potter. You're a representative of our House now," said a bulky boy somewhere to his right, and several people nodded in agreement.

Dessert was served, and Harry busied himself with a large piece of chocolate cake, making sure his mouth was full whenever someone tried to talk to him. He still felt ill at ease, but so far it looked like the nest of vipers that was Slytherin was a great deal more companionable if you were one of the vipers.  
With his glasses repaired, he now had a clear look at the High Table. Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore were deep in conversation. Harry had an inkling he knew what they were talking about. At least the Sorting had thrown a nice, big stick in Dumbledore's plans, he reflected sourly. Snape and Quirrel were talking as well. Harry looked a bit more closely, and decided they weren't really talking; Snape seemed to be interrogating the younger teacher. Had he been on to the man this early?  
Harry didn't shout when a sharp, hot pain shot across his scar, but he did wince. He'd been expecting it as soon as he laid eyes on Quirrel, so he'd been prepared. Snape glanced at him, the expression on his face unreadable. Harry supposed that was better than the look of intense dislike he'd received last time.

After a while, the desserts disappeared from their plates, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem - now we are all fed and watered, I trust you will pay attention to a few start-of-term notices. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. We call it the Forbidden Forest for a reason, after all, which a few of our older students would do well to remember."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"No-one should have to be reminded that magic is not to be used between classes in the corridors, but Mr. Filch has requested I do so nonetheless. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch, with the exception of our first years."

Next to Harry, Draco Malfoy let out a longing sort of sound.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a gruesome death."

The Slytherin table broke out into whispers at that last statement.

"Is he serious?"

"What's up in that corridor then?"

"We have to have a look at it -"

Harry noticed that the teacher's smiles had become rather fixed, while Dumbledore prattled on about the school song. Maybe the support of the staff for this decision wasn't as unquestioning as Dumbledore would like to believe?

"Dumbledore's a dangerous nut, my father's always said so," said Malfoy to Harry, while around them students started bellowing the school song. "He's been trying to get him sacked as Headmaster for years - he's on the Board, you know - but Dumbledore's too well-connected for even Father to unseat."

"Why does your dad think Dumbledore's dangerous?" said Harry, privately thinking he'd short-changed Lucius Malfoy in the past. At least the man had had _some_sense.

Malfoy lowered his voice and leaned closer to Harry. "Father says we've allowed Dumbledore to become way too powerful. He's Supreme Mugwump of the ICW - International Confederation of Wizards - Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot - that's our court - and in charge of the education of every witch and wizard in Britain. People practically worship him. They said he was the saviour of the wizarding world after he defeated Grindelwald, but Father's always said that it's very strange how long it took Dumbledore to get off his -"

"You want to watch what you say about Dumbledore around here," interrupted one of the older Slytherins in a rough whisper. "This is his school, he's got ways to find out."

Malfoy threw Harry a knowing look, and got up with the rest of the Hall when the Feast ended.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry met Dudley outside the Great Hall, as the rest of the students followed their prefects to their respective dormitories. They stood waiting for Professor McGonagall in silence, Harry still mulling over everything that had happened and been said at the Slytherin table. He looked up when he noticed Dudley was fidgeting with his sleeves, opening and closing his mouth as if he was about to say something, but kept stopping himself.

"What's up, Dudley?"

His cousin hesitated. "Is it true what they say?" he blurted out at last. "Did your parents really get killed by this Who D'You Know guy?"

"You Know Who," corrected Harry, fighting the urge to show his amusement. "His real name is Voldemort, but people are still afraid to say it. And yes, it's true. He killed my parents and tried to kill me, but his curse got deflected somehow and he ended up blasting himself."

Dudley was silent for a moment as he took in this new information.

"So... How come you ended up in Slytherin then? Everyone was sure you were going to be Gryffindor, because you are this hero who saved everyone. They were all really surprised when the Hat called out Slytherin instead."

_Not as surprised as I was, I bet,_ thought Harry wryly. "I don't know about the whole hero thing. I was one year old, how could I have done anything at all? The Hat just said that... that I'd do well in Slytherin." Harry shrugged uncomfortably, and realised the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was jealousy. How come that Dudley, notorious bully and coward, had ended up in Gryffindor while he was left to rot with the Slytherins?

"They seemed to love you anyway. Cheering and clapping and shouting like that... Everyone wanted to talk to me at the Gryffindor table, but all they wanted to talk about was _you_," said Dudley, his face sullen.

There was a moment of silence, as each boy reflected on how good the other had it. The silence was broken when Professor McGonagall finally arrived, accompanied by none other than Professor Snape.

"Follow me," said Professor McGonagall curtly, striding past them. Harry and Dudley were swept up in her wake and hurried to keep up, followed by Snape who brought up the rear. Harry dared a glance back at the sour-faced Potions Master, and wondered why he was coming along with them. Then he realised, with a sick jolt of his stomach, that Snape was now his Head of House, and it was only natural for him to be present when one of the Slytherins was called in for a chat with the Deputy Headmistress.

Harry swallowed thickly as they strode through hallways and up staircases, neither of the adults saying a word. He had reckoned on having his first proper meeting with Snape during his first Potions class, not at a meeting over a problematic situation he had caused. Would it make Snape see him as a no-good troublemaker all over again, every inch his father? He'd have to be very careful, not speak out of turn or give any sign of rebellion...  
Harry was so lost in his anxious thoughts that he almost bumped into Dudley when they stopped outside of Professor McGonagall's study. They were marched inside, and Snape closed the door behind them with an ominous _thud_.

"Please sit down," said Professor McGonagall, and Harry and Dudley took a seat in front of the desk that dominated the room. Professor McGonagall sat down behind it, and Snape took up position next to one of the filing cabinets. Professor McGonagall glanced at him, then turned her attention back to Harry and Dudley.

"We received word from the Ministry that there was a... disturbance this morning at King's Cross," said Professor McGonagall, "involving your relatives and several muggle police officers. Thankfully Mr. Weasley, who you met on platform nine and three-quarters, managed to contact the Ministry in time to send reinforcements to King's Cross to modify the memories of those muggles involved. You will be pleased to hear no lasting harm has been done."

Professor McGonagall paused to give them a stern stare, and Harry sagged with relief. He'd been worrying about what had happened after they'd fled to platform nine and three-quarters.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley told us that you boys had run away from home because your relatives were unwilling to allow you to attend Hogwarts, and actively tried to prevent this by giving you house arrest," continued Professor McGonagall.

Harry and Dudley both nodded mutely. Harry glanced at Snape, who was leaning against his filing cabinet, his arms crossed, face expressionless.

"Mr. Potter, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," said Professor McGonagall, pursing her lips in something Harry couldn't decide was disapproval or disappointment. He sat up straight. What kind of bad news could possibly be waiting for him already, on top of everything else that had gone wrong?

"Your aunt and uncle have been in contact, and have withdrawn their guardianship over you. That means you will no longer be able to stay with them."

Harry blinked. He knew the Dursleys would be more angry than ever before, but to kick him out of the house altogether? He hadn't thought it would come to that. If he couldn't call Privet Drive home anymore, that meant the protection of his mother's blood would be broken. He'd be a sitting duck for any witch or wizard that thought it'd be a great idea to have a go at The Boy Who Lived.

"Then... who will I stay with?" he said, licking his lips nervously.

"Your guardian in wizarding society is Professor Dumbledore. He will arrange accommodation for you during any holidays for as long as necessary. I know that Professor Dumbledore hopes that, given time, your aunt and uncle will reconsider their decision and assume guardianship again," said Professor McGonagall. Harry glanced at Snape again, whose expression hadn't changed in the slightest. He didn't have the faintest idea what the man could be thinking about the situation.

"What about me?" said Dudley in a small, terrified voice. Harry had almost forgotten his cousin was there, and jumped when he spoke up.

Professor McGonagall hesitated. "Please rest assured that your parents have expressed no wish to have you leave the house, Mr. Dursley," she said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "However, they have asked that you do not contact them for the moment, until they have come to terms with... the situation."

Dudley sat in his chair mutely, lost for words. Harry grimaced. The Dursleys had put every effort into preventing Dudley from coming to Hogwarts. Now he had succeeded, would they treat him like they always had Harry, and pretend he didn't exist, ashamed of being associated with one of the freaks, even if said freak was their son? Dudley, the ultimate spoiled mother's boy, suddenly cut off from his parents. He knew that was going to be hard on his cousin.

"Sorry, Dudley," he muttered, wanting to pat the large boy on the shoulder but unsure how Dudley would take it.

"Why'd you be sorry, now you don't have to go to back to your cupboard anymore," replied Dudley in a thick voice, sounding resentful and like he was trying to stop himself from crying at the same time.

"Cupboard?"

It was the first time Harry had heard Snape speak up, and he turned around in his seat to watch him. The man had stopped lounging against the filing cabinet and stood up straight, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. Harry leapt on the chance, his heart racing.

"My aunt and uncle made me live in the cupboard under the stairs," he said, trying to sound timid. "Though they moved me to Dudley's second bedroom when I got my letter."

"I - _what_?" choked Professor McGonagall, while Snape's frown deepened.

"Is that true?" said Snape, and Harry was about to open his mouth to say that yes, it was, when he realised the question was aimed at Dudley, who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"He's so small and skinny, he didn't need much space," muttered Dudley. This earned him a disbelieving but furious glare from Professor McGonagall, and he hastily added: "That's what my parents said! They had to take in Harry and we didn't have much money to feed another mouth, and..."

"Did they even feed him at all?" said Snape to Professor McGonagall in a soft voice, quirking an eyebrow. "The boy is skin and bone."

Despite being referred to in third person like he wasn't there, Harry was encouraged by the fact Snape had made the observation at all.

"I could always grab something while I was cooking," he ventured.

This brought forth another exclamation from Professor McGonagall, and with the help of some pointed questions, Harry revealed the entire sordid account of how his aunt and uncle had treated him. He was careful not to overdo it, trying to sound like he thought his homelife at the Dursleys' was more or less normal, mindful of being thought of as whiny by Snape. Dudley was called on to affirm Harry's claims and did so grudgingly, trying to apologise for his parents' actions and minimising his own role in what had happened, but actually telling the truth, which surprised Harry. He had half been expecting Dudley to lie wildly, but maybe the boy felt he owed Harry for having taken him to Hogwarts.  
It was oddly liberating to finally tell someone everything that the Dursleys had ever done to him, from starving him and working him as a slave to being bullied and humiliated by Aunt Marge. Harry couldn't remember ever revealing all the details of his time with the Dursleys. When he was done, he felt cleansed, like some of the Dursleys' poison had been purged from the wound that was his childhood.

Professor McGonagall sat in stunned silence for a while after Harry had finished. Snape was looking at him as if mentally seizing him up, and when Harry returned his gaze, he felt the faint tendrils of discrete Legilimency brushing his mind. Harry tried to think of nothing but how the Dursleys used to treat him, wanting Snape to see that what he had told them was the truth, but terrified that the man might pick something up from his previous past. After a few moments, the presence behind his eyes lifted, and Harry stopped himself from shivering. He really didn't like being read like that.

"If that was everything, Minerva, I think I will take Mr. Potter here to the Hospital Wing for a quick check-up," said Snape, breaking the uneasy silence that laid over the office.

"Yes - Of course, that was all," said Professor McGonagall, pulling herself together. "Could you come back after you've escorted Mr. Potter to his dormitory? I think we need to have a word with the Headmaster about this." She turned her attention to Dudley, who looked like he was about to collapse into a miserable little heap. "Mr. Dursley, facing the truth, no matter how ugly, takes courage, especially when one's loved ones are put in a less than favourable light. Five points to Gryffindor for admitting that Mr. Potter was telling the truth, despite the discomfort this must have caused you."

Dudley sat up a little straighter at that, and Harry silently thanked Professor McGonagall for saving at least part of his cousin's dignity. He hoped Dudley wouldn't blame him for everything that had gone wrong.

Professor McGonagall got up to lead Dudley to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry left the study with Professor Snape, who looked as ill-tempered and menacing as ever. What did you expect, sympathy and a cup of tea? thought Harry, as they made their way through the halls and corridors of the castle.

"Professor?" said Harry as they rounded a corner. He had to skip a step every so often to keep up with Snape's long strides. "Why are we going to the Hospital Wing?"

"Mr. Potter, despite your assurances of having managed to sneak the odd bite while preparing food for your relatives, you show signs of malnourishment. This can lead to all sorts of complications, especially - at your age - arrested development. Madam Pomfrey might be able to at least correct some of the damage your aunt and uncle have wrought," said Snape, not bothering to look back at Harry, who had to stop himself from cheering. Snape actually cared about his physical well-being? He'd always tried to keep Harry safe for Lily's sake, of course, but Harry had the impression that 'alive' was the most Snape had ever been aiming for.

Harry ended up having to stay over in the Hospital Wing for the night, as Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him leave until she'd poured a wide array of potions down his throat, given him a full physical exam, and even then claimed he needed to stay for observation. Snape had shrugged, told Harry the password for the Slytherin common room (Basilisk), and left him with the warning that he'd better be on time for breakfast the next day.

Harry laid uncomfortably beneath the crisp sheets of the hospital bed, pins and needles pricking over his entire body. He'd been told this was a normal reaction to one of the potions which contained SkeleGro to strengthen his bones, which had suffered from lack of nutrients. He also felt extremely hot, and like his entire body was slightly too small for him. The side effects from the potions cocktail were bad enough to keep him from sleep, so Madam Pomfrey had given Harry a dose of Sleeping Potion, which he was now fighting against in order to think things over. So much had happened today, so many things had changed without him having any influence over them. His friends had been scattered across the Houses, and he himself had ended up in the most hated House of all. He thought he'd had a pretty good start with Ron, Hermione and Neville on the train. Had all of that been for nothing? Would they want nothing to do with Harry now that he was a Slytherin? He couldn't let that happen. They were his friends, even if they didn't know it yet, and he wasn't just going to abandon them.  
What scared him most was the fact that he'd lost his grip on a predictable future this early on. Being sorted into Slytherin was a huge change from what had happened last time. How far could he trust his memories? Had the ripples from the changes he'd made spread so far already that he couldn't count on the information from his past anymore?

Harry finally lost the fight against the Sleeping Potion, and slid into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Harry was woken up the next morning by Madam Pomfrey, who was jabbing her wand at him as she muttered several diagnostic incantations under her breath.

"Ah, you're awake," she said crisply, when Harry started protesting against the discomfort. "You'd better make your way to the dormitories before breakfast, so you can have a shower and a change of clothes. I'll be expecting you back here tonight Mr. Potter. I've put together a regime of potions you'll have to take daily for a fortnight, before bedtime."

"I have to sleep here for two weeks?" said Harry, putting on his glasses. He wasn't very fond of the Hospital Wing, having spent more time there than he'd liked, but maybe it was preferable to the Slytherin dormitories.

"That won't be necessary. I'm satisfied that with the aid of a Sleeping Potion, you will be fine to sleep in your own bed from now on. Now, off you go, Mr. Potter. Remember what Professor Snape said about not being late for breakfast."

Harry made his way to the Slytherin common room on autopilot. The castle was dark and silent this early in the morning, and he didn't cross paths with anyone. It was only after he arrived at the stretch of wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons that he realised he shouldn't know how to get around Hogwarts. He recalled having quite a lot of trouble finding his way around in his first year, unused to things moving around.  
"Basilisk," said Harry to the wall, suddenly missing the Fat Lady and her cheerful welcomes. He stepped into the common room, the wall silently gliding shut behind him, and looked around. Leather couches dotted the room, and several armchairs were arranged in front of the large, elaborately carved fireplace, in which a low fire was crackling. The walls of the room were a mixture of rough stone wall and elaborate gothic carvings, giving the place a cavernous feel. The ceilings were simply rough stone, and tall elegant windows that looked out into the depths of the lake lined one of the sides of the room, a blue-green light filtering through them. Harry jumped when a huge shadow suddenly drew in front of the windows and silently glided out of sight again.

"The Giant Squid likes to drop by occasionally," said a voice, and Harry looked around wildly. He'd thought the common room would be empty at this early hour, and he hadn't seen anyone when he came in. He finally spotted a lone figure in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, obscured by its high back. Blaise Zabini sat forward a little, the play of shadow and light from the fireplace making his face look strangely unreal.

"Glad to see they haven't shipped you back to the muggles yet. Where were you last night?"

"Had to go to the Hospital Wing," said Harry, and Blaise raised an eyebrow, but didn't inquire further. "Anyway, I'd better get a shower and get dressed for breakfast. See you."

Blaise turned back to the book he'd been reading, and when Harry hesitated, realising he had no idea where his bedroom was supposed to be, called out: "Staircase on the right. We're the second door from the left."

"Thanks," said Harry, slightly embarrassed.

Harry was greeted by the other first-year boys in various stages of getting dressed as he entered the dormitory, dodging a question about where he had been last night with a vague answer about having to see Madam Pomfrey for some not-further-specified ailment.

"Where's Malfoy? I didn't see him downstairs," asked Harry when he noticed the blond boy's absence.

"Mr. Malfoy doesn't want to sleep with the plebs," snorted a pale, rather skinny boy with a shock of mousey hair. Harry identified him as Theodore Nott with some difficulty, never having had much to do with him. "Mr. Malfoy gets his own suite in the Slytherin dungeons. Doesn't want to catch your fleas, boys."

Crabbe and Goyle glowered at that, but Harry chuckled, surprised that apparently not all Slytherins were eager to lick Malfoy's boots. Theodore Nott smiled at him thinly, and went back to knotting his tie.

Harry set off to the Great Hall after his shower together with the rest of the first years, Blaise and Draco joining them when they left the common room. Breakfast seemed much like a repeat from the Sorting Feast, Harry being the center of everyone's attention. Although - _not everyone_, he noticed while chewing on a piece of bacon, using his full mouth as an excuse again to stay quiet for most of the time. Some of the Slytherins were acting normally, not giving Harry any more attention than they did anyone else. _Simply not impressed by fame, or Junior Death Eaters?_he wondered.

Timetables were handed out, and Harry quickly read through his when Blaise passed him his copy.

"Herbology and History of Magic first thing on a Monday? I shouldn't have bothered getting out of bed," protested Draco on Harry's other side.

"Transfiguration in the afternoon though," pointed Harry out. "After Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The single comment awarded him with being flooded with questions about his favourite subjects, whether he had a particular interest in Transfiguration, and what he thought of Professor Quirrell. Harry restricted himself to grunts and shrugs, gulping down his pumpkin juice and silently cursing himself.

It was the strangest feeling, being liked by the Slytherins. Harry was frequently stopped for a chat by older Slytherins when on his way from one class to the other, often only escaping in time with the aid of Draco, Blaise and Theodore, who seemed to have latched themselves onto Harry.  
Draco Malfoy acted like he was Harry's best friend, telling everyone who would listen of how he'd known Harry would be a Slytherin from the moment they first met and giving Harry a constant stream of his opinions and stories about his glamorous life at Malfoy Manor, which made it very difficult for Harry to stop himself from thumping him. Theodore Nott, who was thankfully not as vocal as Draco, was a stringy-looking boy with rather large front teeth and a penchant for sarcasm. Harry thought he was a bit irritating at times, but he did enjoy joining Theodore in ribbing Draco occasionally. Theo, as the other Slytherins called him, didn't seem to be easily impressed, whether it was with Draco's or with Harry's status, and had taken to calling Harry 'Lord Potter the Awesome' in his bored voice whenever someone made a fuss over him. Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, simply seemed to be, well, present. He didn't exactly follow Harry and the other first year Slytherins around, he just happened to turn up wherever Harry was most of the time. Harry felt he liked Blaise's company best, as the boy was mostly quiet and didn't put much effort into trying to have conversations with him. The biggest downside from being adored by the Slytherins, aside from feeling like he'd been dropped into some sort of bizarro world, was that their attention effectively herded him away from the people that he actually wanted to talk to: Ron and Hermione. Harry tried numerous times to get away from his fellow Slytherins so he could try to start building up some sort of relationship with his old friends, but they simply wouldn't let him. Harry got through his first week by gritting his teeth and fantasising about cursing his overly friendly fellow Slytherins to smithereens.

Harry's first Defense against the Dark Arts class made him even more uneasy. He wasn't sure how he'd react when confronted with Quirrell again, knowing that somewhere in that purple turban, a part of Voldemort was hiding. He watched Quirrell keenly from the last row, where he'd seated himself (Draco, Theo and Blaise falling in their chairs around him - there really was no getting rid of them), occasionally trying to stop himself from hissing in pain as Quirrell turned around to make a note on the blackboard, putting his turban in Harry's sight.  
Harry really didn't know much about Quirrell, just that he'd come back from a holiday in Albania with a bad case of the stutters and an unfortunate hitchhiker. Had Quirrell taken Voldemort as his master and invited him in, mostly acting of his own accord? Or had Voldemort possessed Quirrell before he could defend himself, and controlled him like a puppet? Harry rubbed his scar again, aware more than ever that he, too, was walking around with part of Voldemort's soul in his head.

"D'you know what Quirrell used to do before he became the DADA professor?" said Harry to noone in particular.

"He used to be professor of Muggle Studies," said Draco scathingly. "Father used to talk about him. Useless waste of skin, he called Quirrell. First Class muggle lover. Can't say I disagree, this class is rubbish. The man obviously doesn't even know what he's talking about!"

_That didn't sound very much like someone who supported Voldemort_, Harry thought. Maybe it was more like when Ginny was possessed by Riddle's diary, and Quirrell didn't really know what Voldemort was making him do, unaware that he was possessed at all? If that was the case, then Harry had more or less murdered an innocent Quirrell in his first year. Not that he'd had a choice at the time, but the thought made him nauseated nonetheless.

Another thing for Harry to worry about had become apparent during their first Transfiguration class. Harry had prepared himself for carefully dosing the amount of power he put into the spell to turn matchsticks into needles, but when making the attempt, found that he was getting nowhere. It took him every bit of effort he could muster to apply the basic Transfiguration principles and turn his matchstick silvery and pointy. He frowned, while Professor McGonagall pointed out to the class that Harry had made some progress, and awarded him a point for Slytherin. Harry had to stop himself from wincing at that. He still wasn't used to being a Slytherin, and earning points for his House made him feel like a traitor.  
It became clear during his practical classes that while Harry was far ahead of anyone else in terms of theory, his magical abilities didn't seem remarkably greater than those of his fellow students. His teachers praised him for how quick he was to pick up on spells, but Harry worried about how he wasn't mastering them the way he should. He privately practiced several charms and spells after classes, and found that he couldn't replicate the effects he'd been able to get when he was seventeen no matter how hard he tried. He knew perfectly well how to do magic - but somehow his spells didn't have the power behind them that they used to.  
Harry spent most of his History of Magic class on Thursday afternoon wondering if his trip through time had somehow addled his magic. He had no idea what sort of effects the whole event could have had on him, and that evening he set to reading the books on Time Travel he'd bought in Diagon Alley, determined to find out.  
To his disgust, Harry discovered that his books didn't actually contain any useful information. One was mostly stories about some wizards hundreds of years ago experimenting with time, and wizarding myths on the subject. One turned out to be a book of what must have been crackpot theories, detailing elaborate conspiracies of some invisible magical race to play with the timeline and turn it to their own advantage. The last book he'd pinned his hopes on he couldn't even properly read, as it was full of mathematical formulas and seemed mostly concerned with the origins of the universe and the start of time.

"What _are_ you reading?" said Blaise, bending over Harry's armchair and fishing the book he had been leafing through out of his hands. "Seriously Potter, I'm starting to wonder why the Sorting Hat didn't put you in Ravenclaw, what with all our teachers fawning over you, and you constantly burying your nose in books like this."

Harry muttered something about background reading and snatched his book out of Blaise's hands, who snorted derisively. He should have known that any really useful information on Time Travel would be highly restricted by the Ministry. He wasn't even sure that what he had done had been Time Travel in the strictest sense of the word. When they'd used Hermione's TimeTurner in his third year, there had been two versions of Harry running around: the original Harry and the one that had gone back. What Harry had somehow done was more like returning to an earlier version of his body instead of the one in the woods. Did that mean he'd replaced his original self, or that he _was_ his original self, but with all of the memories that his future self had lived through?

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. Breaking his head over what had happened wasn't very productive, he'd be better off spending his time planning on what his next move was going to be. Like how he was going to connect with his friends despite being a Slytherin, or how on earth he was going to get Sirius out of Azkaban so he could replace Dumbledore as his guardian. And how he was going to deal with Quirrell, when he'd be facing him again.


	12. Chapter 12

Friday dawned, and Harry was surprised at breakfast by Hedwig bringing him a letter. He immediately recognised the scratchy handwriting on the envelope - it was Hagrid's. Harry guiltily realised he hadn't given Hagrid a second thought up until now. The letter introduced Hagrid as a friend of Harry's parents, and extended an invitiation for tea that afternoon. He wrote out a quick reply on a fresh bit of parchment while people fawned and fussed over Hedwig, then sent her off again with the letter tied around one of her legs.

"Anything interesting?" asked Blaise.

"Hagrid, the keeper of the grounds, asked me around for tea later today," said Harry quietly, trying not to get overheard. "He wrote he used to know my parents and he'd like to tell me about them."

To his left, Draco snorted. "You're not seriously going to have tea with one of the servants?" he said with a sneer.

"Yes, Lord Potter, you wouldn't want to get their icky servant-germs on your nice clean boots," added Theo, sounding as bored as ever. Draco rolled his eyes at him.

"I'd like to hear about my parents from someone who actually met them," said Harry defensively. "It's not like I'm asking you to come along or anything."

"Merlin forbid," said Draco, while next to him Theo flung his hand dramatically to his forehead.

"Lord Potter, I am wounded! Why would you not relish the feeling of your friends fitting snugly in your backside at all times?"

After breakfast they trudged down the dungeons towards the Potions classroom. Harry's hands were clammy with nerves, and he kept wiping them on his robes as they chose their seats and got out their quills and parchment. Blaise slunk into the seat next to him while Draco argued with Crabbe and Goyle, who wanted him to sit with one of them. He ended up partnering with Theo instead, his cronies looking sullen at the prospect of having to partner with each other.

Harry froze when Snape came striding into the classroom, sitting up straight as the Potions Master took his seat and started taking the roll call. To Harry's surprise, Snape didn't pause or express any sort of interest at all when his name came up. He sat up a bit straighter, hopeful that this was a good sign, and Snape wouldn't start to single him out during classes anymore. Snape finished the roll call with his little speech, like he had last time. Harry amused himself by picturing Snape practising it in front of a mirror, trying out the most menacing look, and jumped when he suddenly heard his name called out.

"Mr. Potter!" said Snape, piercing him with his stare. "What is one of the uses of essence of Murtlap?"

_Not this again_! Harry frantically rummaged through his memories. _Murtlap essence, Murtlap essence_... it sounded familiar...

"It can be used to treat wounds like cuts, sir," said Harry, relief flooding through him as he remembered Hermione presenting him with a jar of the stuff to treat his hand after one of Umbridge's detentions.

"It can indeed, Mr. Potter. However, this is a Potions class, not your aunt's Home Economics," said Snape, the corners of his mouth curling slightly. Harry could hear Theodore suppressing a snigger. "A more relevant answer would have been that it is used as an ingredient in potions used to relieve pain." Snape continued silkily. "Mr. Zabini, where should I look if I were to find a bezoar?"

"A goat's stomach, sir," said Blaise, while Harry gave a mental sigh of relief. That hadn't been too bad at all. Snape had sort of made fun of him, but he'd skipped the whole celebrity thing altogether and had actually acknowledged that Harry's answer had been correct, if not what he'd been looking for.

"Mr. Dursley, once I've found a bezoar, what could I use it for?" said Snape, and Harry turned in his seat to watch his cousin, who was blinking stupidly at Snape.

"Uhh, I dunno," said Dudley, and Snape's nostrils flared.

"I don't know, _sir_," he said icily, crisply enunciating every word. "Do try to sound at least like you're part of an intelligent species, Mr. Dursley."

This got a couple of laughs from the Slytherins. Harry watched Pansy Parkinson doing an impression of a slack-jawed Dudley for Tracy Davis, who was trying to suppress her giggles. At the table in front of him, Draco was looking at Dudley with an expression of undisguised glee, clearly eager for more Gryffindor-bashing.

"Mr. Weasley, care to help out your uncouth friend?"

Ron's ears turned bright pink as Snape's attention turned towards him, fidgeting with his quill.

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, at least you can form a proper sentence. I suppose that's about all I can expect of you dimwits. Didn't think we'd need to open a book over the holidays, Weasley? For your information, a bezoar is used as an antidote to most poisons. I'd keep that in mind if I were you, as I'm sure one will come in handy sooner or later with that partner of yours."

Snape sneered, the Slytherins minus Harry chuckled, and the Gryffindors scowled at the Potions Master when he turned to wave a wand at the blackboard, the instructions for their first potion appearing on it in chalk. Harry watched as Ron and Dudley whispered over their cauldron, and another pang of jealousy hit him. It should have been _him_ complaining with Ron over what a black-hearted jerk Snape was, not Dudley. He looked up when Blaise nudged him in the side with his elbow, and gloomily set to weighing out the dried nettles for their potion.

Snape swept through the classroom, occasionally stopping at a cauldron to make an acid remark about the quality of the potion. He criticised everyone except Malfoy, who was praised for his steady hand and exact measuring. When he passed Harry and Blaise's cauldron, he looked at its contents and didn't say anything, which Harry took as a compliment.  
Harry was concentrating on crushing his snake fangs into a fine powder, while Blaise stirred the potion clockwise, when Snape suddenly barked: "You idiots!"

Harry jumped, almost crushing his fingers instead of the snake fangs, but thankfully Snape's wrath wasn't directed towards him. He was standing over Dean and Seamus' cauldron, taking it off the burner and vanishing it's contents.

"Can you not read?" snarled Snape, slamming the cauldron back on the table. Dean and Seamus leaned back in their seats as far as they could, looking terrified. "It says very clearly on the blackboard that you need only the _juice_ of the poppy pods, not to chuck them in whole! We're trying to make potions here, not _poisons_!"

Snape whirled around, addressing the rest of the classroom. "If you want to have any hope of getting a passing grade in this subject, you will drill it into your heads that in order to brew a proper portion you will need _precision_ and _attention_. I know you probably feel like I'm asking too much of you by telling you to follow simple instructions clearly lined out on a blackboard, but unless you want your potion to _actually melt your cauldron Miss Parkinson I suggest you take it off the fire before you add the porcupine quills_!"

Pansy Parkinson snatched her cauldron off the burner with a terrified squeal, narrowly missing Tracy Davis with a gulp of the unfinished potion, which had sloshed out of the cauldron from the sudden movement. Snape strode over to their table to continue his rant, while the rest of the classroom worked on in terrified silence.

"He seems like a cheerful chap," Harry heard Theo whisper to Draco.

"He's right," whispered Draco back. "You can't just make a potion like you're making soup, everything has to be exact or you get all sorts of dangerous unintended effects."

"Like you'd know how to make soup," snorted Theo, but he did follow Draco's instructions more closely as they continued brewing their potion.

Harry frowned. If making potions was such an exact science, how come that Snape's alterations in his old Potions book hadn't made his cauldron blow up? There had to be some sort of underlying logic, some stretch in what you could or couldn't do. If only he could get his hands on the Halfblood Prince's book again... He wondered if it was just sitting in the same cupboard right now. He'd be sure to earn some of Snape's respect if he did really well at Potions from the start. Maybe he could sneak in here with the Cloak and - it took Harry a second to realise that the Invisibility Cloak wasn't actually in his possession yet. He sighed, and went back to brewing the potion, checking and double checking the instructions on the blackboard.

When class finished, Harry went up to Snape's desk with Blaise to hand in their potion. He was sure they'd done very well, his head was actually aching from concentrating so hard on not making even the smallest mistake, even with such a simple potion. He didn't want to take any risks. Snape accepted their potion with a grunt, putting it with the rest of the potions for later grading.

Harry was about to turn back to the table to start clearing up, when Snape said: "A word after class, Mr. Potter. Wait in the hallway for me."

"Yes sir," he replied as his stomach sank, and went to clear the table and pack his bag.

"What does he want with you?" said Blaise curiously as he gathered up the leftover ingredients.

"Dunno." said Harry, shrugging. What did Snape want with him, though? He didn't think he'd done anything wrong today. His answer at the start of class hadn't been great, but that couldn't be enough for Snape to have a go at him, could it?

He waited in the hallway with trepidation, urging the other Slytherins to go on without him. The last thing he wanted was to have them around while Snape shouted at him. It took some convincing to make them leave him behind, but Harry was finally left alone for the first time in a week. He let out a sigh of relief, and half wanted to sprint off and find Hermione and Ron in his new-found freedom. Snape finally exited the classroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it with a heavy iron key.

"Mr. Potter," said Snape softly, "our new celebrity."

Harry remained silent, wondering if he was going to get the same speech, but this time in private.

"I do hope you do not have any illusions about your instant popularity in House Slytherin," continued Snape, folding his arms. "If you were to be operating under the misunderstanding that everyone adores you because you are simply that wonderful, allow me to burst that bubble for you. You are _not_ that likeable. _The Slytherins. Do not. Like you._"

Harry simply stared at Snape, perplexed. Was this some strange attempt to make him feel bad? He'd be over the moon if the Slytherins would leave him alone for five minutes, so he had some time for himself.

"Slytherin is the house of ambition, Mr. Potter. You are not seen as a potential new friend, but as a potentially valuable asset. Everyone wants to get on your side because it's _profitable_. Everyone wants to be in the good books of The Boy Who Lived."

"But... why?" said Harry. What Snape was saying did explain the unexpectedly warm reception he'd had from the Slytherins, but why would a bunch of Junior Death Eaters care what he thought about them?

"Some of them think it'll do their families good to have some positive association with the winning side. Some of them think it'll help their future careers if they can drop your name. Some of them will be banking on being able to ask favours of you once you get older and more powerful." Snape snorted, obviously incredulous that anyone would think Harry would have any sort of power in the future. "Some just want to be able to say they're friends with the Boy Wonder because it'll give them a little status."

"It's not like I _enjoy_ everyone trying to get a piece of me! How do I get them to stop following me around?" said Harry, exasperated. Snape rose his eyebrows, and Harry got the impression that he was mocking him.

"I suppose whining at them like that could do the trick, Mr. Potter, but I suggest you figure out a less irritating solution. Perhaps you could even... ask them?"

Snape set off with a whirl of his black cloak, leaving Harry behind in the hallway, speechless. Had Snape just actually tried to _help_ him, or was he reading the situation wrong? He supposed it could have just been an attempt from Snape to put him down, but he didn't think the man would have missed the opportunity to do so in front of his Potions class, if that was the case. Harry set off towards the Great Hall for lunch in a contemplative mood. Getting rid of his Slytherin fanclub - Harry shuddered at the idea - was one of his priorities. He didn't want his House to cut him off from the rest of the school. There was no way he was going to get through his seven years at Hogwarts with only Slytherins as his friends - or pretending to be his friends, as Snape had suggested.

* * *

Harry left the castle around three in the afternoon, and set out towards Hagrid's cabin, crossing the grounds at a brisk pace. The air was crisp and slightly chilly, very unlike the weather they'd had down south in Surrey, where summer still lingered. Harry stepped over the huge boots and crossbow that were laying around in front of the cabin - why on earth did Hagrid leave that thing outside where anyone could get at it? - and knocked on the door. He was greeted by Fang's booming barks, and smiled as he heard Hagrid make his way to the door, trying to calm Fang down.

"Harry!" said Hagrid, popping his head outside as he opened the door a crack. "Glad ye could come! Hol' on a minute - back, Fang!"

Harry slipped inside the cabin as Hagrid held the enormous boarhound back, taking in the sights of the single room. It was just like he remembered: hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling together with bunches of drying herbs, Hagrid's massive bed in the corner, the roughly hewn scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the room strewn with the debris of one of Hagrid's projects.

"Make yerself at home," said Hagrid, busying himself with the tea. Harry happily scratched Fang's ears and took a seat at the table.

"Thanks for the invitation. I like your house," said Harry, and accepted a cup of tea and a rock cake from Hagrid, who was beaming at him.

"It ain't much, but it's home," said the half-giant, settling himself down in one of the chairs. "Got it fer bein' Keeper o' the Keys an' Grounds. I make sure all's well within Hogwarts boundaries, take care o' the critters that roam around in the forest, that sort o' thing. Dumbledore appointed me after - well, never mind. Great man, Dumbledore. How are ye likin' Hogwarts so far, then?"

Harry told Hagrid all about his first week, dunking the rock cake in his tea to soften it up before nibbling on it.

"Everyone keeps telling me how surprised they are I didn't end up in Gryffindor like my parents, though," said Harry, sipping his tea. "People don't seem to like the Slytherins much."

"We-ell... not ter say anythin' against yer House, mind ye, but the Slytherin attitude can be a bit... unhealthy," said Hagrid, giving Harry a worried sort of look. "Ye'd do well to make some friends in the other Houses as well. Don' shut yerself up like the rest o' the Slytherins. One reason nobody likes 'em is they never make the effort to talk ter anybody else, see?"

Harry nodded vigorously, and went back to telling Hagrid about his lessons. When they came to his first Potions class, he mentioned Snape's rant and the terrified reaction of the students. To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"He's not one ye want ter make angry, is Professor Snape. Good man though, he helps me out wi' the creatures in the Forbidden Forest from time to time. I get him most of his ingredient, see. Has he - err, has he been allrigh' wi' ye?"

Harry peered at Hagrid curiously. He'd never known Snape and Hagrid got on fairly well. They'd always been professional to each other when he'd seen them meet, but not exactly friendly. He tried to picture the Potions Master having a pint of mead with Hagrid, but the idea was just too strange.

"Pretty much the same as with everyone, I guess," he said, and Hagrid seemed relieved. "You said you knew my parents though, I'd love to hear a bit more about them. My aunt and uncle never really told me anything."

Hagrid didn't need much encouraging to start reminiscing about Lily and James Potter, entertaining Harry with stories of their time at Hogwarts. Harry steadily worked his way through his rock cake as Hagrid brought up memory after memory of his parents, many he hadn't heard before. He felt happy and at ease for the first time that week, away from the Slytherins and sitting in Hagrid's cosy hut, while Fang steadily covered his robes in drool.

"Ah, they were a good lot, yer parents and their friends," said Hagrid, after a particularly funny story about one of the Marauders' pranks. "The times they've been in here, James, Remus, Peter and Sirius... Used ter have a flyin' motorcycle, Sirius Black did, and I remember this one time he..."

"Sirius Black?" said Harry, interrupting Hagrid. "One of the goblins at Gringotts said he was supposed to be my godfather, but he ended up in prison. What happened?"

Hagrid's face fell, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Ah, nasty business, that was... not sure I should be the one ter tell ye..."

"Oh come on Hagrid, you're the only one I know that actually knows anything about my family!" pleaded Harry, and he kept wheedling until Hagrid gave in and told him about the Fidelius charm and Sirius' betrayal.

"So he was their best friend, and then suddenly he sells them out to Voldemort?" said Harry, after Hagrid had finished. "That just doesn't make any sense. Why would he do that? You said that Sirius always hated how his family bought into the whole Pureblood thing, he even got kicked out of the house for it. Why would he suddenly start supporting Voldemort?"

"Stop sayin' the name, will ye?" said Hagrid, wincing. "You Know Who had a lot o' ways to get people to do his biddin'. He bribed 'em, or threatened 'em, or put 'em under the Imperius Curse..."

"But you said that people now think that Black was Voldemort's greatest supporter, while he never did anything but fight him before my parents got killed," said Harry.

"Well, they say Sirius Black used ter be a spy for Voldemort all along," said Hagrid. "But I really don' think that ye should be..."

"All the way since he was at Hogwarts and made friends with my parents? That's ridiculous. You don't believe that, do you? You were just telling me what a good guy he was!"

"I... well... Shouldn't ye be goin' back ter the castle by now? Dinner'll be soon," said Hagrid, obviously eager to stop the conversation and get Harry out of his cabin. He loaded Harry's pockets with rock cakes, ignoring his protests, and then gently yet firmly ushered him out of the door.

Harry walked back to the castle, torn between feeling bad for having upset Hagrid, and elated that he'd gathered information about Sirius that didn't immediately put him in a bad light. It was a better start towards pushing for a retrial than he could have hoped for. What with Dumbledore now officially being his guardian ever since the Dursleys had kicked him out, his resolve to get Sirius out of Azkaban had taken on a new sense of urgency. He could stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, but once the year ended, he'd be completely under Dumbledore's custody if the Dursleys didn't take up guardianship again - which he doubted they would.

Time to get in touch with Moony, then.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter, things have been a bit hectic here. I'm a bit uncertain about this chapter but as I'm pretty much posting as I write (to push myself to actually write - I need a little pressure or I'd give up halfway through), there isn't much room for revision and rewriting and what not. Maybe when the whole thing is finished I'll come back and redo it, but for now it will serve.**

**Two things to address: This will NOT be a Harry/Hermione story (romance is not going to feature much - they're eleven!), and I am not going to do any Ron-bashing. I know he hasn't been around much so far, but patience is a virtue :)**

* * *

In the end, getting rid of the Slytherins turned out to be a lot easier than Harry had imagined. Keeping Snape's words in mind, Harry made a short announcement in the Slytherin common room on Saturday morning: that while he really appreciated the warm welcome the Slytherins had given him, he would consider it a personal favour if everyone started treating him like everyone else and give him some space, because he didn't want to be treated like a celebrity and their fussing was making him uncomfortable. There was some muttering at that, but most Slytherins accepted the request without too much trouble, a couple actually apologising for having been a bit overbearing.  
The permanent Slytherin-cloud that surrounded Harry dispersed, leaving behind only Draco and Theo, who simply did not mentally include themselves in 'everyone'.

"Should've done that a lot earlier, I was getting tired of having to sick Crabbe and Goyle on people just so we can get to class on time," said Draco, sitting down next to Harry on one of the leather couches.

"But Lord Potter, how will people be notified of your Awesomeness without your loyal fans following you around everywhere, tooting your horn?" said Theo, letting himself fall into the couch opposite. "I can't help but feel this hasn't been a smart career move."

"Shove off, Nott," said Harry. "Talking about people following other people around, where are your shadows hanging out today, Malfoy?"

"Crabbe and Goyle like to sleep in on weekends," said Draco, pulling a copy of Quidditch Quarterly out of his robes and starting to leaf through it.

"I have to say, I just can't figure out what exactly about those two charms you so much that you let them trail after you all the time," said Theo. "Can you, Zabini?"

Blaise, who was sitting at one of the tables working on an essay, turned around in his seat. "Can't say that I do, Nott. Malfoy obviously likes something about them, though."

"He does, doesn't he?" said Theo, pretending to stroke an imaginary beard. "Do you reckon he lets them come with him to the loo when he needs to drain the dragon?"

"Oh very funny," said Draco, chucking his magazine on the low table in front of the couch and looking thoroughly annoyed. "Of course I don't like them. They're about the dullest people I've ever met."

"Then why are you friends with them?" said Harry, non-plussed. Granted, Draco had never exactly been friendly with his cronies, as demonstrated by him talking down to Ron and Harry when they'd been impersonating the duo in their third year. There had to be some reason he kept them around.

"I already told you Potter, they're not my friends," said Draco huffily. "My dad just knows their dads."

"So what does that have to do with you?" said Theo, lounging back in his couch.

"The Crabbes and Goyles are vassals of the Malfoy family, as you know very well," replied Draco haughtily. "That means they have to do as we say," he added for Harry's benefit. "Anyway, my father said I should keep them around, just in case."

"Just in case what?" snorted Theo. "In case little lord Malfoy needs a bodyguard? Or if he forgets how to tie his own shoelaces in an acute attack of Posh?" Draco scowled at him.

"Can't you just tell them to get lost?" said Harry. Being in Crabbe's presence made him very uneasy, and because Draco seemed determined to attach himself to Harry's hip at all times, that unfortunately meant he had to endure Crabbe's company as well.

"Yeah, tell them to get lost. Having those two golems following us around all the time is just creepy," Theo chimed in.

"I can't just tell them to get lost, Father said..."

"Who cares what your father says?" said Harry, rolling his eyes. Draco was always going on about what his father thought about this or his opinion on that. He was getting thoroughly sick of it. "You're going to just do what your father says for the rest of your life?"

"But Father says..." started Draco, before being rudely interrupted by a bark of laughter from Theo. "Alright!" he said angrily, glowering at Theo, who was dangling his legs over one of the armrests of his couch, looking highly amused. "I'd get in trouble if I told them to shove off, alright? I don't like it any more than any of you do."

"Why not make a deal with them?" said Harry, an idea taking shape in his mind. "I doubt they're all that happy about having to be your bodyguards either - no offense, Malfoy." Draco grunted, and Harry continued: "Why don't you agree that they'll tell their dads they're still on your tail, and you tell your dad that they are as well, and just go your separate ways and do what you want?"

Draco frowned, clearly at least partially swayed by Harry's argument, but being held back by years of following his father's rule without question.

"You're not a kid anymore, Malfoy. You have to start learning to think for yourself," said Harry, trying to give Draco the push he needed. Draco was very obviously still a kid, but he didn't have to know Harry thought so. Draco puffed out his chest slightly, and Harry knew he'd scored a point with the boy's ego.

"Yeah, you're right. What Father doesn't know doesn't hurt him," said Draco, getting up from the couch. "I'll go and talk with Crabbe and Goyle."

"Nice one, Potter!" said Theo, as soon as Draco had disappeared upstairs. "Good riddance to those lumps. Not having to look at their gorilla-faces is going to make my day a lot brighter."

Harry grinned involuntarily, and noticed that Blaise was still twisted around in his seat, looking vaguely impressed.

"Not bad, Potter," the dark-skinned boy acknowledged, then turned around and went back to his essay.

* * *

They had their first Introduction to the Wizarding World session on Saturday evening. It was led by the Slytherin prefects, and Harry sat through the meeting feeling rather uncomfortable. Most of it was pretty boring stuff, to his surprise. He'd half been expecting some sort of Introduction to Being a Death Eater lessons, but while there was a fair amount of pure-blood propaganda, most of it really did boil down to etiquette lessons. They spent a good half hour on listing the most prominent families and their standing in wizarding society, Draco beaming proudly when his family was mentioned and slapping Harry on the back when the Potters were listed, looking around to make sure everyone could see what great buddies they were.

"Told you us pure-bloods should stick together, Potter!" said Draco cheerfully, while Harry tried his best not to roll his eyes.

Harry was surprised to learn that Theo's family was actually every bit as pure-blooded and important as the Malfoys were. Theo just made a face when the Notts were mentioned, shrugging and flashing a toothy grin at Harry.

They were taught how to behave in proper wizarding company, Pansy, Tracy and Daphne giggling their way through the little roleplay scenarios they had to do, miming getting introduced to each other and serving tea. Draco went through all the motions perfectly, having been taught this sort of thing from when he could barely speak, but Theo refused to take any of it seriously, pretending to poison Harry's tea when it was his turn to offer it.

"You'd want to pay attention," murmured Blaise as Harry and Theo whispered about how stupid all of this was. "This sort of thing might look ridiculous, but you're at a real disadvantage if you want to get anywhere if you don't know how to act properly."

"I'm not sure I want to go anywhere they wouldn't let me in if I don't hold up my pinky properly when drinking tea," said Theo, putting on his most pompous face to offer Harry a plate of imaginary biscuits.

"Not interested in a proper career or making any money then?" hissed Blaise. "Not interested in any further studies? All the best jobs and apprenticeships are held by the people that won't let you anywhere near them if you're not one of them. Even you will have to put in some effort if you want to get anywhere, Nott."

"What crawled up your butt and died, Zabini?" said Theo, taken aback at the boy's sudden anger.

"You can make fun of it all you want, but this is how the real world works," snapped Blaise. "So you better start taking this seriously or prepare for being left behind."

Harry mulled over Blaise's words as they moved on to respectable wizard attire, the girls cooing at the pictures of well-dressed witches and wizards the prefects handed out. He couldn't shake the growing feeling that there was something slightly off about Blaise, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly. From what he'd seen of the greater wizarding world though, the boy's words had at least some truth. The pure-blood families controlled most of society, and held the most sway in the Ministry. Mr. Weasley, a Pureblood who was very competent at his job, was nonetheless left forgotten in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, unwilling to take part in office politics or behave like most pure-bloods did.

It wasn't unlike muggle society, he decided, while trying to wrestle his tie into a complicated knot that apparently was the standard for official dress. The pure-bloods were the upper class, while people from the 'lesser' families or with mixed parentage made up the middle class: accepted, but not part of the little Pureblood inner circle. Muggleborns, deprived of any real knowledge of the do's and don'ts of wizarding society, were still considered the lower class. They might be every bit as good at magic, but they just didn't know how they were expected to behave, so they would never really fit in.  
Harry angrily tugged at the knot, snarling it up so tight that one of the prefects had to come over to help him untangle it. It just wasn't fair. Why didn't Hogwarts give this sort of class to everyone? They had Muggle Studies, why couldn't there be Wizarding Studies for the muggleborns? Unless they ended up in Slytherin, they'd leave Hogwarts with a huge disadvantage, like Blaise had said. And everyone knew Slytherin didn't accept muggleborns.

Harry was still in a bad mood when they turned in for the night, Draco retreating to his private suite while the other boys changed into their pyjamas and climbed into their fourposter beds. At least he had something to look forward to now that the Slytherins didn't hover around him anymore 24/7. He could finally try to find his real friends.

* * *

Harry escaped the Slytherin common room early on Sunday morning, witnessed only by Blaise, who was apparently a morning person, judging by the times he'd been up before the rest of the Slytherins. He had a hurried and blessedly quiet breakfast, after which he made his way to the library as fast as he could, the thrill of freedom putting a spring in his step. Ron would probably spend most of his time in the Gryffindor common room, but he was positive he could count on Hermione visiting the library at least once on a weekend day, and resolved not to leave until he could meet her.  
Hermione did not disappoint, entering the library somewhere around 10, looking slightly harried. She didn't notice Harry sitting at one of the tables working on his Potions essay, but sat down at a table all the way in the back, as if trying to hide, and pulled out her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.  
Harry excitedly put his things in his bag and moved over to her table, sitting down in the chair opposite of her.

To his surprise, Hermione looked up at him and wailed: "Just leave me alone!" in an exasperated voice. When she noticed who he was, she coloured slightly pink, and said: "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

"Who d'you think I was?" said Harry, taken aback.

"I - oh, never mind," mumbled Hermione, flipping open her textbook and unscrewing her bottle of ink. "If you don't mind, I've got a Potions essay to be getting on with."

"I was just working on that as well," said Harry, smiling. "Want to do it together?"

Hermione looked at him uncertainly. "Why would you want to work with me?"

"Maybe you don't remember, we met on the train. I just thought you were pretty nice," said Harry, floundering slightly. To his relief, his reply earned him a genuine smile.

"Of course I remember you, Harry. I just thought, because you're..." Hermione stopped herself, biting her lip and looking down at her parchment.

"That because I'm a Slytherin I wouldn't want to talk to you?" said Harry.

"Well, yes." said Hermione, looking slightly embarrassed. "I mean, I told the other Ravenclaws that you seemed -"

"Normal?" said Harry, grinning.

"No! Well, yes, but I didn't say it like that. Anyway, they said that if you were a Slytherin, I'd better think twice about wanting to have anything to do with you. Not that I think that," Hermione added hurriedly.

"I'm glad you don't," said Harry, pulling his half-finished essay out of his bag. "Now, how about we get some work done on that assignment? I got a few things already, but I'm a bit stuck..."

Hermione pulled the essay out of his hands and started reading through it, while Harry inwardly cheered. The rest of the morning went well enough, Hermione lecturing Harry on how to get the right resources for his assignments. They finished their Potions essay and went on to their Transfiguration assignment, Harry talking Hermione through the more tricky part of the theory. Her face lit up when she grasped what he was trying to explain, and Harry felt pleased about being able to academically help out Hermione for once, instead of it always being the other way around.  
One thing Harry really wanted to talk about with Hermione was his diminished magical power. It had taken him quite a bit of thinking to find a way to bring it up that was only slightly suspicious instead of hugely so.

"I've been wondering something," said Harry after they finished up their Transfiguration work. "Do you have any idea how exactly someone would go about blocking another wizard's magical power?"

Hermione gave him an odd look. "Why do you ask?" she said.

It took Harry a while to explain about the Dursleys and their attitude towards magic, and how his aunt had asked a non-specified someone to stop Dudley from going to Hogwarts at all costs. Hermione was horrified at the thought, but also seemed relieved that Harry wasn't hatching any plans for cursing someone.

"I just thought that magic wasn't something that you could take away," said Harry, as Hermione mulled over the question.

"Oh, you can't really," said Hermione. "Some wizards and witches have tried, on others and themselves, but nobody has ever succeeded with anything permanent."

"Why would anyone want to do that to themselves?" said Harry, confused.

"Mostly because they wanted really badly to be muggles, for whatever reason. Or because they did something really bad, regretted it, and wanted to prevent themselves from being able to do it again. There's some really tragic stories about wizards that accidentally harmed someone they loved, and in their grief tried to cut the magic out of them, as it were, but they never succeeded," said Hermione.

"How do you know all that?" said Harry incredulously. He'd always known Hermione was the cleverest witch in their year and a fount of knowledge in general. He'd just forgotten just how much of a sponge for information she'd been even in their first year.

"I just wanted to find out everything I could about magic as soon as I found out I was a witch, didn't you?" said Hermione. "When my parents took me to Diagon Alley, I just got every book on the subject I could find. It's just so fascinating, did you know there's still a lot of disagreement and uncertainty on exactly how magic works, or why some people have magical talent and some don't? I'm fairly sure that's got to do something with genetics, but I don't think that the wizarding world knows much about DNA."

"Then you've got one up on them," said Harry, and Hermione gave him a pleased smile. "So you can't take away magic, but could you suppress it somehow? Maybe make it less strong than it supposed to be?"

"I don't know, my books didn't really talk about that. That sounds like pretty dark stuff," said Hermione, frowning. "There's some ways wizards and witches can lose some of their magical ability, of course - long periods of exertion, magical accidents, certain diseases..."

"Diseases?" said Harry eagerly. Maybe he'd simply contracted a bout of wizard flu?

"Oh yes, your magic is tied up more closely with your physique than a lot of people realise," said Hermione, happy to have such a receptive audience. "You'll never do your strongest magic when you're not feeling well physically. And of course, a child's magical potential grows just like their body does, and doesn't come into its full power until they reach adulthood."

"So even if a kid knew a spell perfectly, it would never be as powerful as one cast by an adult?"

"That's right," said Hermione, and Harry sagged back in his chair, relief flooding over him. That must be it: he knew how to do spells, but his body hadn't caught up with his seventeen-year-old mind yet. They spent the rest of the morning working together and chatting amicably about their first classes and favourite subjects, Hermione gushing about how much she was enjoying Transfiguration.

"How are you enjoying Ravenclaw then?" asked Harry, when Hermione professed her admiration for tiny Professor Flitwick and his skill at Charms. Her face fell slightly when he mentioned her House, and Harry wondered worriedly if she was having as miserable a time in Ravenclaw as she first had in Gryffindor.

"It's... not really like I'd imagined it," said Hermione. "The other girls are really competitive, and I..."

"...beat them all and they're sore losers?" said Harry, having an idea of where this was going.

"I thought Ravenclaw was all about becoming the best you can be," said Hermione, grimacing. "I didn't think people wouldn't... wouldn't like me for knowing a lot." She looked down at the table unhappily, fiddling with the strap of her book bag. "If I'd known it was going to be like this, I wouldn't have asked the Hat to put me in Ravenclaw."

"I thought you'd decided that Gryffindor sounded like the best option?" said Harry, who had been wondering about Hermione's Sorting ever since the Sorting Feast. "Why did you pick Ravenclaw?"

"Well... it was you, really. I thought I was doing really well, but then you did that Summoning charm perfectly, so it was obvious that I wasn't ahead as much as I thought I was. I thought that being in Ravenclaw would be better after all."

Harry said nothing. He wanted to apologise to Hermione for messing up her Sorting, feeling incredibly guilty about her having a hard time in Ravenclaw. She hadn't had the easiest of starts in Gryffindor either, but when she became friends with Ron and Harry she simply hadn't seem to care about Lavender and Parvati's occasional teasing anymore. Hopefully she'd be happier once she befriended Harry and Ron again.

"Well, I think you're brilliant," said Harry after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "If the Ravenclaws don't like you, that's their loss." Hermione blushed and smiled at him, and Harry continued: "Do you want to start studying together after class? I know I could use some help."

"That'd be nice," said Hermione happily. "I could draw up some timetables for us to plan out our work. I think I need a bit more time for Potions, it seems a bit like cooking and I've never been any good at that..."

Harry and Hermione walked out of the library towards the Great Hall for lunch, Hermione chattering away about study methods and plans, Harry content that Hermione at least still wanted to be his friend.


End file.
